


The River that Flows Eternal

by Barrowight



Category: Neopets
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Fantasy, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 107,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrowight/pseuds/Barrowight
Summary: "The days and nights pass by like rain..."On his way to the Rainbow Pool, an ordinary Lupe finds himself trapped in a past he doesn't know. The path home winds through a world teetering on the edge of a cliff—and through the lives of an adventurer and a scholar searching for their own dreams. The three of them set out to discover the truth: about time, Neopia, and the destiny they all share. A (very) loose retelling of NeoQuest I.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 1





	1. Distant Days

**Author's Note:**

> This story is mostly identical to the series of the same name published in the Neopian Times #891-902. For this version I've corrected the italics (damn you TNT), reworded several passages, and in general fixed a ton of errors. There's also a bit more fantasy violence. Nothing gory or anything, but please only keep reading if you're okay with that from time to time.
> 
> I also want to emphasize again that this is an extreeemely broad take on NQ1. No game knowledge is needed to read this, and I've changed many of the plot details and characters anyway. As anyone who's played the game knows, there's... not much canon to make use of.

_Have you ever heard it? The music of the World?_

Evett opened his eyes slowly. He heard echoes of sound in his ears, like the song of waves in a seashell. Soon it faded into silence.

Silence? He sat up suddenly and felt bare rock digging into his fur. Under him was a craggy hill, one of dozens that rippled uniformly towards the horizon. Grey clouds rolled lazily overhead, speckling the desolate landscape with shadow. Nothing moved.

“Wait,“ Evett said. His own voice sounded foreign to him. “Wasn’t I just—at the Rainbow Pool?” Where were the buildings? The street lights, the crowds, the cobblestones? He turned wildly. It felt as if the silence was swallowing up his memories.

Surely he’d been there just moments ago, looking up at the shimmering fountain. The sunlight on the water had changed its seven hues into a thousand. To anyone else in Neopia Central it must have been an ordinary sight. But Evett, watching the colors arcing over the still pool, had found it nothing less than spellbinding. He’d crept up to the rim, clutching his paint brush, and then, and then—

Well. His fur _was_ blue now. At least he had that. And his inventory bag had made the trip too. Delightful.

It took Evett all he had not to let out a panicked sort of laugh. He covered his face for a moment to stem his racing thoughts. But when he opened his eyes and faced the barren world before him once more, his dread deepened. He knew, though he couldn’t explain how, that this was a different Neopia: not some hidden country in the back of a moldering Brightvale atlas, but an older and wilder place altogether.

How he’d arrived here he couldn’t even begin to guess. The very earth felt hostile; the thought of it continuing on beyond the horizon, stretching its cursed limbs out in every direction, made Evett feel sick. The only thought on his mind was going home. But where was home? Where was he now? He had traversed uncountable miles in an instant. Charting a course back to Neopia Central seemed impossible.

“Okay, one thing at a time,” he muttered at last. “One thing at a time.” If he had to survive in this blasted place to make it back, then so be it. He would just have to tamp down on his thoughts and move forward. There wasn’t anyone better at that than him.

With a frown and a few calming breaths, he took another look at the hills. It wasn’t quite true that nothing was moving, as he’d first thought. The breeze was picking up, and the tough grass and rocks beneath his feet quivered. Out of the corner of his eye he saw shadows jumping from one hiding place to another. Everything had an ominous look to it. As he fumbled in his bag, he managed to find an old baseball bat and a slingshot. Not exactly high-end weapons, but they would have to do.

He was wondering which way to explore first when a scream ripped through his thoughts. He froze. It seemed to be coming from the valley below. _Just what I needed,_ he thought tiredly. He usually made an effort to avoid this kind of thing (a habit cultivated by city life). But as the shrieks resounded again, he wavered a little. The voice sounded masculine, not much older than himself. Maybe he’d take a look. Just a quick one. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to see what the wildlife around here was like. Right? Gripping his makeshift gear, he crept to the other side of the hill and peered down a cliff he hadn’t seen before.

Just below him, down the steep and rocky slope, was a Korbat running from a snarling black monster. No, not a monster, a _Bearog_ —Evett could hardly believe his eyes, but it was as much a Bearog as the cheerful yapping Petpets he was used to. It ran after the Korbat, its claws digging into the thin soil. The poor fellow was doing his best to evade it, but Korbat wings evidently weren’t good for much other than a few weak bursts of speed. In the blink of an eye his pursuer closed the distance.

The Bearog’s paw swept out with terrifying speed, knocking the Korbat down. It padded closer to its soon-to-be victim, its mouths slavering. Evett made a face and stood abruptly. He should have run for it after all. But even as he turned to make his escape, free from guilt and all its irritating weight, the Bearog looked up at him. The Korbat looked up too and began to scream even louder. “Help! You there! Help me!”

 _Oh no you don’t._ Gulping, Evett turned back as the Bearog leaped up the slope toward him. Rocks scattered under its paws, echoing down the bare hillside like panicked drumbeats. Evett reached for a pebble and fitted it to his slingshot. Okay. He was fine. This was just like the Battledome. Just like the Battledome.

The shot went wide. The Korbat ducked with a squeak. Evett nearly dropped the slingshot from his sweaty grasp. The Bearog was upon him. Too frazzled to even remember his bat, he fumbled for another pebble. Another shot, another shot—this one glanced off the Bearog’s front leg, making it stumble. Evett took a breath of relief, but then he realized the Bearog hadn’t even slowed down. It slammed into him head-on.

Evett gasped as the breath was driven out of him. The sky tumbled overhead, and then the ground rushed up to meet him. The pain shooting through his skull was like a thunderclap. He felt the rocks digging into his back. _I’m—I’m alive?_ His eyes focused. The Bearog was a few feet away, winded from its charge. It bared its fangs, preparing for another charge. 

Evett knew nothing of battle or tactics. All he could think of survival. That blasted Korbat had cut off his escape route, so the only thing he could do now was win. Roaring, Evett balled his paw into a fist and launched himself at the Bearog. He dodged its claws by some luck or instinct and, putting his whole body into the strike, sank a punch into its flank.

The Bearog staggered backward. It was injured, but it could still fight. Evett drew his paw over his mouth, readying himself for another brawl; behind him, the Korbat came clambering up the hill with a small dagger in hand. The Bearog’s beady eyes flickered from foe to foe. Clearly it was taken aback by even this token resistance. With a last growl, it turned tail and retreated down the hill.

Evett sat down on the grass and watched the black silhouette disappear into the valley. He was dizzy from the adrenaline, but somehow unharmed. Was he really this strong? Him, a poor Lupe on the dole who’d hardly ever trained? It didn’t seem right.

“Amazing!” The Korbat ran up to him, breathless. Though his accent was strange, Evett still understood every word of the language. “That was amazing! You’re a real warrior.”

“Me? Oh, please,” Evett said. “I haven’t so much as set foot on Mystery Island…” He trailed off, seeing the Korbat’s blank look. Well, Evett realized, it was no wonder he seemed like a powerful warrior if this place didn’t even have codestones. “…Forget I mentioned it.”

“In any case, I owe you my life,” the Korbat said, patting down his shock of red hair. He certainly looked like the fastidious type. “My name is Mokti. I’m a traveling merchant. And you?”

“I’m Evett, and I… uh.” Evett stopped, at a loss for words. “Actually, could you tell me where we are?”

“The Hills of Jub, of course. Are you lost? I suppose you were too caught up in your warrior training to realize, but Neopia City is back that way, to the south.”

 _Neopia City_? Evett thought about this for a second. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he’d seen that name on a plaque once. It was the old name of Neopia Central, from an age lost to record. Had he traveled back in time somehow? Mokti’s attire—a plain belted tunic and trousers, with an old-fashioned wool cloak—seemed to suggest as much. And there was the feeling in his gut too. So the clock had turned back after all.

Then Mokti cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly. “This might sound presumptuous, but do you have some time on your paws? I… I‘ve been searching for someone like you out here to help me. See, I’m looking for my little brother. He’s gone missing.”

“Missing?”

Mokti sighed. “For the past few weeks we’ve been traveling to the villages around Neopia City with our wares, but two days ago he just up and vanished on the road. I’ve been searching as best I can, but… well. You saw what happened to me just now.” He looked at his dagger ruefully. “Rikti’s in great danger—I know it. Someone like you could…”

The request hung in the air unspoken. Evett cleared his throat awkwardly, not quite willing to accede to it yet. “Do you think he might have just run away?”

“If he had, I would have found him by now,” Mokti assured him. “He’s a funny little rascal, always going on about Rosval the Righteous and all that, but he’s not too bright.” He smiled fondly before growing serious once more. “I’ll wager Rikti’s been taken to the cave north of here. There are powerful creatures there, and I’ve heard rumors of strange magic too. Quite frightening.”

“Magic?” Evett squinted northward. The lifeless hills marched onward to the horizon. In the distance the grey clouds were gathering. Mokti’s brother hardly concerned him, but this could be a clue to his own bizarre situation. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he’d traveled through time and landed mere miles from someplace mystical, could it? And if that cave was the cause, it could very well be the solution. The lead wasn’t much to go on, but…

“All right, I’ll look for him,” he said finally.

“Really? You mean it?” Mokti’s face lit up, and he shook Evett’s paw with vigor. “Thank you! You’re a hero, you are. Please, take this too. I’m sorry it’s not much.” He handed Evett some food and a small bag of silver coins. Evett accepted them with some bewilderment.

Mokti looked up at the sky. Evett wondered how it was possible to discern anything from those flat grey clouds, but it seemed Neopians here were used to telling time without clocks. “It’s getting late,” said Mokti. “I need to be back in Neopia City by nightfall. Of course, you can come find me if you need anything. I’ll be in the lower ring with the other merchants.”

He sighed and continued in a small voice. “Rikti’s all I have. I’ve got to keep him safe, no matter what. Please—please find him.” Then, shaking Evett’s paw one last time, he went away down the hill. Though he didn’t seem too much older than Evett himself, his back was bowed with worry. Evett opened his mouth and shut it again. There was nothing more to say.

Traversing the featureless hills was tiresome. There was the occasional roaming Bearog to pummel or run from, but more frightening was the emptiness. Evett missed the comforting presence of civilization at his back. He had a few omelettes in his bag and a couple rounds of Battledome training under his belt, but how long would either of those last? Evett cursed his misfortune, to have ended up in this blasted wasteland of all places.

There was that strange feeling within him again, almost like an ember leaping out of a fireplace. He couldn’t tell if it would grow, or if it would blow out with the next breeze. But somehow the sensation led his paws in the right direction; whenever he faced north, the heat turned uneasy. Maybe it was just indigestion. He hoped it was.

And so, after the day had fallen into the long shadows of evening, he stood before it at last: a massive hole carved into a northerly hill, looming over dead rocks and dying grass. A rotting smell wafted from within, making Evett blanch. It had a terrible aura about it, an ancient evil that he felt in his bones. He knew without thinking that Rikti was inside, along with—maybe—a clue to his journey through time. His stomach twisted, and he regretted his curiosity. He hated caves. He should never have agreed to this. Why had he? “I shouldn’t have said yes,” he said under his breath. “Should’ve turned around and left…” But even as he spoke, he was already stepping over the threshold into darkness.

The cave was a maze of tunnels, each damper and fouler than the one before it. Evett could only guess how far the procession led. He gripped the bat with clammy paws. Slorgs and Spirkles, hideously mutated like the slavering Bearogs of the hills, nipped at his fur. He swung at them, but the further he descended the more numerous they became. Then came an even more terrifying sight. As Evett rounded a corner, waving his bat blindly in front him, he hit something solid: a massive brown Lupe, crouching on all fours.

“H-hello,” Evett said, trying to talk around the lantern gripped between his teeth. “Uh… sorry I hit you just now…” The Lupe didn’t answer, but growled wordlessly, like a Petpet. He stepped into the light, and Evett saw at once that this was no ordinary Neopet. The cave Lupe’s scraggly fur, long and untrimmed, was crisscrossed with mud tracks and old scars. His beady red eyes looked about madly before settling on Evett. There was a ravenous look in his eyes. Evett shrank backward, horrified.

“Can’t you talk?” he managed in a squeak. “You’re a Lupe like me, aren’t you? Why can’t you—“ Fear silenced him, and strangely, an unspeakable sense of compassion. Then, without warning, the Lupe lunged. Evett scrambled to raise his bat, but he knew that at this distance he would be too late to fend it off. He shut his eyes in terror, feeling the Lupe’s breath on him—

 _WHUMP._ A sound reverberated through the cavern. Evett opened his eyes. The cave Lupe was lying dead on his side, and in his place stood a young red-haired Korbat wielding a torch and a sword streaked with purple blood.

“These Lupes don’t talk,” said the Korbat. His odd accent matched Mokti’s perfectly. “Can’t you tell they’re monsters? You’ll be in hot water if they catch you off guard.”

“Monsters?” Evett gaped numbly at the corpse. A trail of blood wormed lazily away from it. Then he looked the Korbat up and down. “Are you… Rikti?”

“Yeah, what about it? And who are you?” The Korbat looked at him quizzically. He was a youth all right, though a much tougher youth than Mokti had implied.

“I’m Evett,” he replied. “Your brother’s been looking all over for you. You’d better leave this place.”

Rikti bristled suddenly. “What? Did Mokti send you? Of course he did. Look, I’m perfectly fine! Go tell him that!” And he gave the cave Lupe a hearty kick for good measure.

“Okay! Okay, whatever,” said Evett, recoiling as more blood spattered from the body. Evidently Mokti’s fears of dastardly abduction had been off the mark. “I’ve got nothing to do with your family quarrels. But I’m not turning around until I get what I came for.”

“Really? And what’s that?” asked Rikti, looking more interested.

“Er… I’m not sure exactly, but there’s some kind of magic in here, right? Is there somebody leading these monsters?”

Rikti’s eyes brightened. “There sure is! I’m after that very same goal, myself.” He stood up tall, though ‘tall’ didn’t mean much on a Korbat. “These creatures have been terrorizing Neopia since the Old Times, and I’m going to put a stop to that.”

“The Old Times…?” Even this era seemed impossibly ancient to him; the reminder of an even greater abyss of forgotten years was unnerving. But then again, it might be the answer to his time-travel dilemma.

“Want to come with me?” said Rikti eagerly. “I could use somebody to talk to.”

Briskly he polished his sword clean before sheathing it again. Evett’s stomach churned. This was a _kid_ he was talking to _._ What kind of world had he ended up in? Giving a last look to the dead Lupe, he shuddered and forced himself to breathe again. If he didn’t want to end up the same way…

“Sure, I’ll tag along. A guide might do me some good.”

“Guide?” Rikti chuckled. “About that…”

* * *

“Still, I can’t believe it,” Evett grumbled. “A whole day in this place without a map? I’d go crazy.”

A few hours had passed. Evett and Rikti were still fumbling through the network of tunnels; their surroundings looked much the same, but the air seemed to be changing, and that at least was a good sign.

“Are you kidding? No one’s come to this cave in ages, much less made maps for it,” said Rikti. “You’d have to be a mage to figure it all out. I don’t suppose you know any magic?”

“Uh, no,” said Evett. “I mean, I did a faerie quest once, but I don’t think that counts.”

“Faerie? What’s that, some kind of monster?”

“…Forget it.” They plodded onward. Evett briefly wondered what kind of magic these Neopians had if it wasn’t faerie magic, but then decided it didn’t matter. This world was strange enough as it was.

They heard a faint shuffling noise. Rikti stopped and craned his head. “Judging by the sound, it’s two trolls and a cave Korbat. Don’t worry, they’re practically blind. We’ll sneak up on them.”

The numb feeling of danger, forgotten for a while, gripped Evett again. But Rikti crept forward calmly. They waited at the bend of the path. A pair of small white trolls—Triffins, rather—came into view, trailing a thin and mangy-looking Korbat. Rikti leapt, brandishing his weapon.

Evett stood rooted to the ground. He could hardly think. Then the Korbat came at him with a horrible screech, and he stopped thinking entirely. The bat was flailing in front of him before he even realized it. He swung and swung with nothing but sheer panic to carry him. It took him a few moments to realize that the Korbat had fallen. The creature hadn’t so much as laid a finger on him.

For a while he stared at the crumpled corpse, breathing hard. He’d just… killed a Neopet. A twisted Neopet, but a Neopet nonetheless. Its strange purple blood was pooling at his feet. He felt lightheaded.

“Don’t space out over there!” said Rikti. Evett jumped and spun on his heels. There he saw Rikti’s swordsmanship for the first time. The little warrior lacked Evett’s sheer size and power, but he was dodging both trolls’ ungainly blows with unbelievable speed. His feet traveled lightly from one practiced stance to another. Every now and then he would leap into the air, punctuating his blows with a burst of flight. Korbat wings weren’t good for much… but for _this_ , Evett had to admit, they were hard to top.

The trolls soon beat a hasty retreat. Rikti didn’t bother to follow them. “Nice work!” he said, giving Evett a clap on the back once they had gone. “You seem new to this, but you’re pretty strong. Don’t forget to put your shoulder into those hits—better for your elbows.”

“How… how are you so used to this?” Evett said weakly.

Rikti looked at him in surprise. “They’re just monsters. Don’t tell me this is your first time in a fight?”

“I’m, uh, I’m visiting. From overseas.” Evett wiped his brow, looking at the cave Korbat again. It was impossible to shake the uncomfortable feeling that it looked like Rikti somehow. “What exactly are these things? Why don’t they act like… like normal Neopets?”

“Well, I dunno. They’ve been around since forever. Evil to the bone, too. They say Jahbal used them as his army back during the wars. But I guess you wouldn’t know any of that.” Rikti leaned over and gave him a friendly nudge. “Don’t worry. Just think about it like hunting, if that helps.”

Evett hadn’t hunted a day in his life, of course, but he returned a feeble smile. If Rikti saw anything odd in that, he didn’t comment on it. Instead he stretched and rubbed his chin. “Speaking of hunting, I’m famished. Got any food in that sack of yours? All I’ve had lately is waybread.”

“Ah—yeah.” They turned the corner and walked a bit further to distance themselves from the scene. Rikti settled down on a rock. Trying to forget his nerves, Evett sat next to him and pulled a few carefully-wrapped omelettes from his bag. “Let’s see, chokato, carrot, onion, pizza… hmm…“

He looked up to find Rikti gaping at him. “How did you fit all that in there?” he cried. “The thing’s tiny!”

“Huh? Oh, you know, it’s just a typical bag. Bigger on the inside and all that.” Evett demonstrated by pulling out a few books, a coat, and a stained-glass window he’d won the other day. Looking at Rikti’s astonished face, though, he remembered belatedly that inventory technology was a fairly recent innovation. “Oh… I bet yours doesn’t do this.”

“No! Of course not!” Rikti sputtered. “That’s some crazy spell! This bag and your fancy lantern and your ‘omelette’ thingy… I bet Mokti would have a thing or two to say about that.” But at the reminder of his brother, he fell silent.

Evett passed him an omelette, and they ate awkwardly. “So what have you got against Mokti, anyway?” Evett said finally. “He seemed all right to me.”

“Sure he did. He also told you I was a poor, helpless infant begging to be saved from the clutches of evil. Am I wrong?”

“Well… maybe.”

“And there it is.” Rikti rolled his eyes. “All he thinks about is safety and security and the family business. He doesn’t _care_ about the monsters, plain and simple.” A long sigh. “They’ve been multiplying, you know. Everyone says so. Even with Jahbal gone, these things are still happening. And I’m not going to stand by while they happen. I—I want to save the world. With or without Mokti’s say-so.”

“What, all on your own?” Evett felt uneasy. Sure, the kid had skills, but fighting a war? Was this place really so far gone? “You said this cave’s stuffed to the brim with monsters.”

“I’m up to the task,” Rikti retorted, grinning. “It’s busy here, sure, but I’m still looking forward to the main event. The one all the stories talk about.”

“Stories, huh.”

“Yeah.” Rikti lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Villagers around here say Xantan the Foul lives in this cave. Crazy, huh?”

“Uh, I don’t know who that is,” said Evett. “I’m from overseas, remember?”

“Right, my bad. Well, here’s the gist. It’s one of my favorites.” He cleared his throat.

_Long ago in the Old Times, there lived a group of brave sorcerers called the Circle of Twelve. Neopia was united in those days, and the immortal Twelve ruled it for untold centuries. Rosval the Righteous was one of their number, as was Faleinn the Shape-changer, and Mirnar of the Sunrise, and many more great heroes. But two among them were brilliant beyond compare: Jahbal, the mighty mage who led them, and Xantan._

“Let me guess,” said Evett. “It all went south.”

_Now Xantan was a powerful warrior, beloved throughout the north. With his sword he brought peace to the land and prosperity to its citizens. Yet he desired still greater authority. He turned on the Twelve and formed his own nation. There began the first of the great wars that wracked Neopia... that, indeed, still haunt it one thousand years later._

_It was Jahbal, cunning and proud, who—_

“Okay, enough with the voice. It doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s for effect!” Rikti huffed. “But fine. To sum it up, Jahbal won, and Xantan was forever sealed away within his fortress. Of course, Jahbal went bad himself a few years later, but that’s a whole different war.” Evett winced. The Old Times hadn’t been any more pleasant than the current reality, it seemed. “Basically, the villagers swear Xantan’s still around, and he’s in here running this band of monsters in Jahbal’s place. What do you think?”

“I don’t know…” All this about myths and legends was going over his head. “I mean, I don’t see why it couldn’t be true. You said the Twelve were immortal, right?”

“Yeah, but he was cursed. And this is _the_ Xantan we’re talking about. What are the odds?” Rikti tapped his chin, smiling. “You know, the more I talk about it, the more excited I get. Xantan or no Xantan, let’s find the boss of this cave and pulverize him! You ready?”

Evett looked away. The thought of all this ancient evil was unsettling, even more so than the thought of battle and death. He let himself drift into memories of his home city’s twinkling lights—his little apartment—the winding streets and marketplaces of Neopia Central. The images were already indistinct, and they ached all the more for it. His gut twisted. _I’m not here to save the world,_ he thought, but the words withered in his mouth. “I guess,” he said.

Rikti grinned at him and stood up. “Thanks for the food. Let’s get going.”

They went on, farther and farther underground. The air seemed to become less oppressive, however, and the stench of the mud less foul. The duo’s mood lightened with their surroundings. Evett even laughed at a few of Rikti’s awful jokes. He asked plenty of questions, and got plenty of answers.

It seemed Rikti and Mokti were from a town to the west known as Swampedge City. They had left it in their childhood for some reason. Now they spent their days traveling around northern Neopia, trading with the towns and villages dotting the landscape. “And it’s as boring as it sounds,” he declared. There was more land south and east of Swampedge, beyond the Wide Plains, but Rikti had never been there. As he explained it, the overland route through the plains was all but abandoned, and sailing over the Summer Sea usually cost a fortune. All he knew about that part of Neopia was that it was warm and pleasant. With, he added, a few exceptions.

“Like what?” Evett asked, curious despite himself.

“If you don’t know, then I’ll leave it at that,” said Rikti, pulling a face. Then he stopped dead. “Look!”

All conversation was forgotten. The ceiling ahead, which had hung low over their heads for hours, suddenly soared up into spacious darkness. Evett stepped forward, and his paw touched stone—not the misshapen rocks of the Hills of Jub but a floor of square tiles, neatly laid by some ancient builder. The sound of his movement echoed off distant walls. “What… what is this?” he said.

“I saw a ruin like this once,” said Rikti, holding his torch up to the cavernous space. “This is a castle from the Old Times. I bet it sunk underground at some point. Wow!” The beam passed over what had once been a proud hall lined with sumptuous tapestries, now ground to dust. Only the silent stones remained. Evett and Rikti walked down the central path, surrounded by fading echoes and pillars looming out of the empty shadows. Evett’s fear, so long suppressed, returned in full force. There were no monsters here, but a greater presence was stirring. Could it be…? His skin crawled.

 _WHO ARE YOU?_ A voice spoke unbidden in Evett’s mind. He looked around in surprise, but Rikti didn’t seem to have noticed anything. They went on, making their slow way to the center of the ancient hall.

 _YOU ARE NOT OF THE CORRUPTED. NOR ARE YOU AN EMISSARY OF THE ENEMY. WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU?_ The voice came again and again, reverberating madly in Evett’s head. It was an old voice, worn by time, but its strength sent him reeling.

“I hear something,” Rikti whispered urgently as they walked. “Like… something dripping, or… “

“…a voice?” Evett suggested weakly.

_WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? WHO? WHO? WHO?_

“Huh? Voice? What’re you on about?”

_ANSWER ME. ANSWER ME._

“Leave me alone!” Evett cried out finally. Rikti stared at him, baffled. They reached the center of the hall and stopped dead. The tiles here formed a concentric ring, lit by a wide ray of moonlight from a hole far, far overhead. Strange marks were carved into the stone. In that unearthly glow, Evett thought for a feverish moment that he and Rikti looked like ghosts.

_WHAT ARE YOU, YOU BEAST?_

Something wet and cold wrapped around Evett’s paws. Before he knew it he was stumbling, then trapped in it. Like quicksand, it enveloped him. Was it sludge? The bat slipped out of his paws. “Help! Rikti, help!” he cried out.

“Evett! _Evett!_ ” Rikti drew his sword and hacked at the muddy tendrils.

_USELESS. THAT SWORD CANNOT TOUCH ME. FOR I AM STILL XANTAN, HE OF THE CIRCLE OF TWELVE._

“Xan… tan…?” Evett repeated faintly.

“What? Wait. Hold on. _That’s_ Xantan?” Rikti’s eyes widened. “No way. This can’t be happening!”

_HOW DISMAYED HE IS. AT MY FORM. AT MY LAST DISGRACE._

Evett struggled to speak, but no words came out. Mud was rising from cracks in the earth, more and more of it until the whole floor was roiling. Every movement brought him closer to being swallowed by this monstrosity. As if hearing his thoughts, the sludge pulsated with hatred. A half-formed face rose out of it, with bulging eyes and a hideously gaping mouth. _YOU… YOU… ARE AN ABOMINATION._ The force of the creature’s vicious hold on Evett’s body grew stronger, until he nearly cried out. He began to reel. All the while, Rikti’s sword bounced uselessly off its surface, never quite penetrating.

“What in Neopia is going on?!” yelled the little Korbat. “I don’t know if you’re really Xantan or not, but you’re _way_ past your bedtime, you old mud heap!” Summoning all his strength, he brought down his sword. The blade sank into the heart of the sludge, just below the face, and Xantan let out a roar that shook Evett’s mind to the core. The whole hall seemed to shudder. Rikti was sent flying. Yet the sludge did not relinquish its grip.

“Why—me—“ Evett gasped. Breathing was difficult. The mud was rising, nearly to his eyes. The sound of Rikti’s yells grew distant.

_TRY, LITTLE HERO. TRY AND DESTROY ME._

And the mud washed over Evett’s head.

* * *

“Evett!” Rikti stretched out his hand, but the Lupe disappeared beneath the surface with horrifying speed. Rikti backed away, shaking. He didn’t really know what was happening, but it was clear something had gone terribly wrong.

 _Xantan_ … This had never happened in the stories. The Xantan he knew was a sturdy Shoyru warrior with a winning smile, charismatic even in his darkest hour. That was the kind of villain Rikti had always dreamed of going up against. But this? What kind of curse had Jahbal placed on Xantan to make him into _this_?

 _I’m—scared,_ Rikti realized, and almost laughed. How was he going to save the world like this? He swallowed and stood, quelling his tremors. No, he couldn’t stop here. So what if this was the first time he’d ever faced a monster this tough? Evett was waiting for him—Neopia was waiting. He had to be like the Twelve, like Rosval the Righteous striding with his golden shield. He had to live up to that pride. If he lost that, he had nothing.

Grabbing his sword, he lunged at the heaving sludge one last time.

* * *

Evett was trapped in darkness. His limbs, his face, even his mouth were frozen in place. _I’ve been swallowed,_ he realized dimly. He was dizzy from the lack of air, and he dared not open his eyes. The weight on him was terrible to withstand. This place, this terrible place—

 _UNGRATEFUL BEING. UNGRATEFUL, UNNATURAL BEING._ The words, louder than firecrackers, sank painfully into Evett’s skull.

 _I don’t understand_ , cried Evett. _If you’re going to kill me, at least tell me why!_

_YOU ARE WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE. A MONSTER OF ANOTHER TIME._

_I haven’t even done anything—I just want to go back home!_ Evett almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. _You’re the monster, Xantan. Attacking Neopia with those creatures…_

 _FOOL. THE CORRUPTION WAS NOT MY DOING. I WAS CAST OUT. I WARNED THEM OF THE ENEMY. THEY HEEDED ME NOT. NOW YOU COME TO SALT MY WOUNDS._ Bitter resentment and hatred roiled in the mud. And with it, a desperate grief. _RETURN TO THE ABYSS. THIS IS YOUR END, TRAVELER OF DISTANT DAYS._

The cold and pain were unbearable. Evett struggled desperately to move, but without air he knew it was only a matter of time. Spots of disjointed color flickered behind his closed eyes. They looked almost like the home he had left behind just hours ago. The white walls of that little bedroom, with colorful clothes thrown and scattered every which way—he’d meant to clean the place, but had never quite gotten around to it. Tears came suddenly to Evett’s eyes. _No, stupid, this isn’t the time to think about your wardrobe…_ But the memory ached in his heart, and set it ablaze.

Heroism and Neopia meant nothing to him. Fear and compassion were empty words. In that moment all he thought of was life. His life, and his home. _I want to live. I want to live. I want to live._ He would see that little room again, no matter what it took, no matter what had to be done. His tears dried and hardened. There was a fire in him that brought his heart to a boil. It rose from a vein that bound him to the earth itself. A sudden light burst forth into the narrow darkness. He gasped, and the fire poured from his mouth. It leapt out of him in every direction. Slowly the cold slime of Xantan’s body was repelled. Evett had space to move now, if only a little. He opened his eyes a crack, and faced the ancient mage.

 _WHAT ARE YOU?_ The voice was screaming, distorted with rage.

At that moment, a sword pierced the sludge. Only barely did it reach, but it was strong and unyielding. Again and again, the gleaming point stabbed the darkness. Air and sound penetrated into Evett’s prison. Xantan shrieked wordlessly. “Rikti!” shouted Evett, gulping down a few precious breaths. “Rikti, I’m coming!”

A tongue of flame soared from within, and a blade of steel sank down from without. The two met and joined as one. The sludge was broken. Evett lifted his head and burst out into the waiting cavern of stone. The fire followed, scorching away at Xantan until the mud was ash on the floor.

 _WHAT… ARE YOU…_ Still Xantan asked, almost in desperation. Evett glimpsed for a moment the mind of a proud sorcerer brought low by the ravages of time; a ruler that dreamed only of looking upon the long-lost world he had cherished, until at last the empty years and the fear of infesting beasts finally drove him mad—

Evett blinked, and the vision was gone. The flame had gone out, but somehow, somehow, he was alive. What lay before him now was mere sludge, still reaching impotently for him with a final curse.

 _THE ENEMY HAS SEEN ME. THE ENEMY. THE ENEMY LIVES._ As it drew closer, half-chanting in Evett’s mind, the ground began to shake. A few stones high above trembled and fell. Half-dazed, Evett thought he saw the markings on the floor begin to glow.

Rikti tugged Evett’s sleeve. “We have to go,” he said breathlessly. “There’s a cave-in coming!”

“What…?” With effort, Evett disentangled himself from the wretched tendrils of Xantan’s voice. “What did you say?”

“I said _move_!” Rikti shouted. A boulder the size of Evett’s head hit the ground with a deafening crash. That did it. Evett and Rikti turned and, not daring to look back, raced down the long pathway. The whole earth was groaning, keeling to one side like a listing rowboat. Energy shot through the air. Evett’s fur prickled on end. Was this Xantan’s last attack?

Rocks were falling everywhere. With a horrible creak, one of the great pillars began to fall. He and Rikti managed to dodge it. It landed, throwing up a gust of wind that nearly blew them off course. They half-ran, half-fell the last ten steps, skirting blindly past the rubble. Finally they stumbled over the border separating castle and cave. As the stench of the tunnel assaulted them once again, Evett finally looked over his shoulder. There was Xantan, still in the tiny patch of moonlight where they had left him. He had not moved, though his voice implored Evett ceaselessly. _THE ENEMY… THE ENEMY_ —

Then, at long last, the ceiling of the castle came down. The voice shut off abruptly, drowned out by the grinding of rock against stone. Then silence. Evett’s breath caught. They waited for a second, staring at the blank walls of rubble before them, too afraid to speak.

“Amazing,” Rikti said at last. “We made it. We beat Xantan. _The_ Xantan! I can’t believe it!”

Evett clapped him on the back. “Let’s just get out of here for now.” He felt drained enough to pass out. And Xantan’s words made him shiver.

“Sounds good,” said Rikti, following him with a spring in his step. The terror and chaos of only moments ago seemed not to touch him. “But really, what a fight! You never told me you could do stuff like _that_.”

Evett exhaled deeply, trying to return his mind to reality. _“_ What? Oh, the fire? I have no idea either.” He’d nearly written it off as a hallucination, but apparently Rikti had seen it too. “And you were pretty good too with that sword of yours.”

“Thanks.” Rikti grinned. “We make a great team, don’t we? It’s a shame you’re going back to your own country.” He gave Evett a sidelong glance, as if challenging him to continue the lie.

“Well, I think I’ve got a fair few adventures ahead of me too,” Evett answered. He’d hoped for a quick return to his time, but of course it couldn’t be that easy. There was something darker happening here, some evil plot stirring in the distance. For now he refused to think about it. He let his worries pass him by.

The cave’s twisting paths fell away behind them, step by step. The air lightened. Somewhere outside this cave, the moon was shining. He was reminded of another time, long ago and yet a long time ahead, when he had looked up at the night sky. Compared to that, this struggle was nothing.

“…Listen, Rikti, I want you to know something. I _am_ from another country, but it isn’t here. It’s the future.”

There was a pause. Then Rikti shouted at the top of his lungs: “Sorry, _what_?”

The night, it turned out, was a long one.


	2. A Great City

If there had been any mages walking the Wide Plains that morning, they would have felt the wave of energy in their very bones. As it was, there were none—and the sorcerer arrived on the ocean of yellow grass unnoticed by all, save one far to the southeast. And _his_ gaze did not matter, not as he was now.

The sorcerer stepped out from the magic circle and looked out over the flat plain. This was an unexpected place to end up. Perhaps after all this time it still had a natural affinity for spells. But now, separated from everything that had once been sane and familiar, the view was terrible. Winter was close at hand. A biting wind blew. Ignoring it, the sorcerer began the long trek southward. Even in this utter solitude, there was no room for the slightest doubt.

A gamble had been made, a terribly expensive one. Now it was time to wait and observe. There were a few months remaining, or maybe less. What was a month compared to a thousand years? Two thousand? An eternity? The sorcerer had seen destiny and wanted no part in it. This would be the last gasp.

* * *

“Okay, so go on with your story,” said Rikti eagerly. “You bought your magical… paint brush thing, and then?”

It was late morning, and the sun was just beginning to peek out from behind its cloudy raiment. Evett and Rikti were hiking south out of the Hills of Jub, still fresh off the previous day’s battle. Rikti, for his part, was in high spirits. He wasn’t sure about Evett, but then again there was plenty he didn’t know about this Lupe—as was rapidly becoming clear.

“Right, yeah,” Evett said. “So then the next day, which was yesterday, I went to the Rainbow Pool. That’s where we use paint brushes. It was about… hmm, probably eight o’clock, since I’d just checked the mail...“

“Ohclock? What’s that?” Rikti frowned, trying to wrap his head around Evett’s crazy stories. “And wouldn’t your mail be better off with an armorsmith?”

Evett groaned. “…Never mind. Anyway, forget all the details. Long story short, I got myself painted blue at the Rainbow Pool in Neopia Central, and right at that moment I sort of fell asleep. After that I woke up here. That’s the long and short of it.”

Rainbow what now? It was better not to ask, Rikti decided. Some things were just too advanced for his poor ancient-Neopian brain. “Well, I don’t know what kind of magic stuff goes into those paint brushes, but I bet that had something to do with it. Say, what color was your fur before?”

“Before? Oh, you know…” Evett trailed off and made a face. “Well, it wasn’t anything exciting, that’s for sure.”

“What, and _blue_ was better? For someone from the future, you sure are ordinary,” said Rikti, giving Evett a playful punch in the side. “I’d have thought you made the whole thing up if it hadn’t been so boring. Next to you, the _Ballad of Erick and the Babaa Temple_ sounds like a downright thriller! But forget all that. Look, we’re here!”

They were at the foot of the hill, and as they rounded the side of it, a beautiful plain came into view. Waves of barley and wheat, tinted gold by sunlight, sloped gently downhill to the silhouette of a great walled city in the distance. Rikti had seen it many times by now, but it never got old. It was a good sight better than the swamp he’d used to call home, at least.

The city was closer than it looked. Rikti took to the air and practically dragged Evett most of the way, which helped. When they were finally standing at the Common Gate, telling the guards their names, hometowns, and professions (or a somewhat edited version, in Evett’s case), it seemed like no time had passed at all.

And then, with little fanfare, they were passing under the enormous stone arch into Neopia City itself. A maze of narrow streets surrounded them, overlooked by an equally chaotic procession of buildings. These were mere thatched dwellings in the outer ring, but farther off Rikti could see tall stone turrets, climbing higher and higher above the warren of streets. They were gleaming white, and the tallest of them seemed to touch the clouds themselves. It was said the inner ring was two thousand years old—built by Xantan himself, before he had turned to evil. Rikti didn’t know if he quite believed that story, but it was a good one.

“Here it is! The grandest city in the north!” he said. “Does it hold up to _your_ Neopia Central?”

“A bit,” said Evett with a wan smile. “So what’s our plan now?”

“Well, we need information. You want to find out how you got here and how you can get back. Me, I want to find out who’s been controlling the monsters that roam all over Neopia. And I have a hunch these two are related. That’s how it always is with magic stuff.” Rikti folded his arms and nodded sagely. “Anyway, I think I know someone who can help us.”

“Wait! I just remembered,” Evett interjected, pulling Rikti to a stop. “We have to tell Mokti that you’re okay. He was pretty worried yesterday.”

“…Was he?” If there was one Neopian Rikti didn’t want to see right now, it was _that_ overbearing busybody.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that. Can you just show me where he is? Somewhere in this marketplace, right?“

“Yeah, yeah. This way.” Feeling decidedly less optimistic, Rikti led Evett through the crowd and around a few corners. It was a slow day at the market, and he easily caught of the familiar rickety wagon. There, sitting by it and fidgeting worriedly, was—

“Mokti!” called Evett. “Here’s your brother!”

The taller Korbat turned and leaped up from his chair. “Evett, is that you? And Rikti! Goodness, you really found him! Was he in the cave after all?”

“Yeah, actually we—“ Evett began.

“I wasn’t kidnapped,” said Rikti abruptly, glaring at the floor. “I left.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah. You heard me.”

Mokti stiffened. “You’ve been through too much danger to think straight. Now say thank you to the nice Lupe and put away that sword. We’ve got a lot of work to do today—“

Suddenly Rikti couldn’t bear the old rants and lectures any longer. “I’m not going to sit back and sell trinkets!” he shouted. He couldn’t believe his own stupidity, running back to his brother just hours after his incredible adventure. “Can’t you even tell why I ran away? Don’t you know anything about me?”

Mokti sighed exasperatedly. “About your obsession with folktales and songs, you mean? Listen, Rikti, the fate of Neopia doesn’t concern you. Our business concerns you. Is that clear?”

“No! No, it’s not!” The passersby were giving them a wide berth now. Rikti paid them no mind. His anger was boiling over. It didn’t matter if he told Mokti about Xantan. It didn’t matter what he said at all. Even if he’d lifted the whole continent on his pinky finger, his brother would be there the next day to complain that he’d muddied the wagon wheels.

“I’m stronger than you think!” he yelled. “You and I both know what the monsters are capable of. I’m not a child anymore. Just ‘cause you prefer to run and hide—”

“You _are_ a child, and you’re making that clearer and clearer with every word you say,” Mokti snapped. “I don’t care about your little escapades. This is for your own good!”

“For _my_ good?” Rikti scoffed. “Give it up, Mokti. Mom and Dad aren’t...”

Mokti recoiled as if struck, gaping wordlessly. Rikti stopped himself on a reflex. Even he knew that was too much.

“Okay, Evett, let’s go,” he muttered in the silence. He turned on his heel and rounded the corner.

Evett hesitated, then followed him. “Are you okay with just leaving like that…?“

It took an effort not to turn around. “Yeah. I am. But anyway, let’s get going! Time waits for no Neopian!” Rikti set off at a jaunty pace.

Evett shook his head, but thankfully didn’t seem to care enough to intervene. They pushed their way through the stalls and shops. The sun was high overhead now, and business was heating up. With all the energy in the air, it was easy to forget about family squabbles.

“Anyway, about the magic stuff,” said Rikti in what he hoped was a normal voice. “I’m not an expert. Most non-scholars aren’t, really. But one of the weaponsmiths here is an exception. Name’s Eleus Batrin. He’s a family friend—sold me this sword for a discount. You can trust him.”

Evett nodded vaguely. He looked overwhelmed. It made sense, seeing as he’d apparently never done any fighting before. And yet… he _was_ bizarrely strong. And a time traveler to boot! No matter how he looked with that scruffy hairdo and odd outfit, there was some brilliant spark in him. Rikti wondered how deep it lay.

Soon they passed into the old city: the inner ring, or Xantan’s Pot as the more uncouth locals liked to call it. The air itself felt ancient, and the lofty white walls seemed to watch over the chaotic district below with elegant disapproval. Though the arts of their construction had long been forgotten, their majesty remained.

Rikti often ran errands here when he and Mokti were in town, but the atmosphere was never quite his style. There were no shouting shopkeepers or children playing in the dirt. The few passersby were finely dressed. Even the scholars’ apprentices, the only residents who seemed remotely close to Rikti’s age, had a stuffy look to them.

Just off the main avenue was one of the old spires Rikti had glimpsed from afar, carpeted in ivy. Eleus Batrin’s shop occupied the ground floor. Rikti pushed open the door cautiously and led Evett inside. It was dark and apparently deserted, but even in the gloom, he could make out the glint of countless swords and axes lining the walls. The sound of hammer and anvil was faintly discernible from the room behind.

“Who’s there?” came a voice echoing from the back.

“It’s me,” Rikti answered loudly. They heard the back door creak, and then an elderly Kyrii with a snow-white beard emerged.

“Ah, another morning gone already,” the old fellow—Eleus Batrin—mumbled, throwing open the curtains. “And what brings you here, Rikti? Quarreling with your brother again? For goodness’ sake…”

“It’s not about that,” Rikti retorted, a bit snappier than usual. “And besides, he doesn’t own me.”

Eleus shrugged. “I never said he did. But be patient with him. He’s doing his best.”

If only Eleus knew how bad the quarrels were now. “Forget that,” said Rikti. “I’ve got something bigger to ask about. Eleus, do you remember us talking about magic the last time I was here? You know a lot about it, don’t you?”

Eleus frowned, suddenly looking much more alert. “More than most, perhaps. But as I recall, you seemed uninterested in the topic before…?” His gaze drifted to Evett, who tried to look nonchalant.

“Weeell, a lot’s happened.” Rikti wondered how to begin. “Basically, this Lupe here is a mage from the future, and he and I defeated Xantan the Foul last night.”

The old Kyrii raised his eyebrows so high that Rikti thought they might disappear into his forehead entirely. “Let us discuss this in the smithy,” he said.

* * *

“…and after that Xantan disappeared, and it was over,” finished Rikti. He and Evett were perched on a grimy-looking bench in Eleus’ cluttered workshop. They had just finished recounting the past day’s events, time travel and adventure and sludge-slaying included. It was a miracle Eleus had any eyebrows left to raise at all.

“Quite the tale,” said Eleus. “If not for that astounding bag of yours, good Lupe, I’d not have believed it.”

“It really is something, huh,” said Rikti, eyeing the bag enviously. “Hey, but you agree with me, right? He’s a mage. Natural prodigy, too.”

“No way,” Evett protested. “The fire stuff surprised me too, you know. I’m not some kind of professional sorcerer.”

“A mage is merely someone who can use magic,” said Eleus. “Your skill has nothing to do with the name, and as such, I agree with Rikti. Evett, would you perhaps demonstrate this ‘fire stuff’?”

“Uh.” Evett stared blankly at his paws. “How?”

Eleus rubbed his chin. “Imagine yourself as you were last night. Picture your state of mind.”

Evett screwed his eyes shut and arranged himself in a more meditative pose, which to Rikti looked downright comical. “I’m not really sure,” he said slowly. “I felt angry. There was something rushing into me. Like a faucet—sorry, you don’t know what that is. A… river, I guess, bursting through a dam. All twisted up…”

Rikti frowned. He wasn’t an expert, but that didn’t sound normal. Evett inhaled and exhaled a few times. Finally, as his muscles tensed, something appeared. A small mote of flame bounced up on his paw-pad. Although it went out quickly, the warmth lingered.

“Quite good for a novice,” said Eleus approvingly. “I’m not convinced that this could defeat Xantan the Foul, however. As I’m sure Rikti has told you, he was known for his strength.”

“He must’ve gotten weaker,” Rikti commented. “Since the stories left out, you know, the whole sludge thing.”

“Yes, it seems so,” said Eleus. “Jahbal’s curse must have stolen away his magical energy. For terrible ends, I’m sure.”

Evett mulled this over. “Jahbal… didn’t that name come up in your story yesterday, Rikti? Who is he again?”

“A bad guy. The worst of them all,” said Rikti. “He was the leader of the Twelve and fought to seal Xantan away, but then in the midst of the confusion he started a war of his own. See, he wanted to oust the Twelve and rule Neopia alone.”

He plowed on through the details, heroically resisting the urge to slip into his storytelling habit. “There’s never been a villain like him. Even with the rest of the Circle fighting back, his power was something else. And he managed to get an army of monsters on his side, somehow. The wars went on for years, until…”

“Until what?”

Rikti’s voice stopped. _The Ghost City._ At the gates of the old capital, the final blow had been struck. He shot Eleus a glance. They both knew. Every Neopian knew, though no one knew more than a far-off whisper of the truth. “…Well, it’s not important. But the Twelve are gone now, all of them. Except Xantan, I guess.”

He thought about this last part. “Maybe Jahbal wasn’t worried about him, since the… the curse Eleus mentioned was keeping him down. But wow, that’s insanely powerful. Just taking energy willy-nilly!”

“That was one of Jahbal’s greatest skills, though not one you hear much about nowadays,” Eleus replied. “With a proper magic circle, he could even manipulate energy in the earth from afar. In olden days he placed many circles in his allies’ palaces so they could speak from afar. Most of them were scratched out once the great wars began… Evett, what is the matter?”

The Lupe had a disturbed look on his face. “It’s something Xantan said,” he began.

“You talked to him?” Rikti gaped. “How? When?”

“It was telepathy or something,” said Evett. “He told me he’d tried to—to warn everyone. But then the ‘enemy’ had ruined him, and he had been forsaken by them all. He hated them, he said. Over and over.”

“Enemy? That must mean… Jahbal.” Rikti said slowly. “But it can’t be. You’re saying he was actually trying to do the right thing?” _Then… he really was on the side of good. At least for a while._ His head hurt. No, surely not. Xantan the Foul, a hero? It didn’t make sense.

“That’s not all,” Evett went on. “At the very end, he started to panic. He said he felt the ‘enemy’ watching him. I thought he meant me, but… the thing you just said. About Jahbal using magic circles.”

“Slow down. What?”

“Rikti, those markings on the ground in the castle. They started to glow right before the rocks fell. Do you remember that?”

Rikti thought back. It had all been very chaotic, but he did recall seeing something glowing. And he thought he remembered feeling the buzz of magic in the air, even after Evett had put his fire out. His mind raced. “Wait. So you think Jahbal put that circle there ages ago? And, and he sensed the energy somehow, and saw that Xantan was there, so he made the cave collapse?”

“I know it might be a little farfetched…”

“ _Farfetched_? He’s been gone for centuries. And you’re saying he’s _alive_! Alive right now! That’s—that’s—” It couldn’t be.

“…Bad news, huh,” Evett said, with a grim chuckle. Rikti almost wanted to shake him. Bad news? What did he know? A monster from the Old Times was walking this earth. An Eyrie, green-eyed and wreathed in darkness—a sorcerer-king who led the nation to its greatest heights—a fiend who sacrificed his own heart on the altar of strength. _The_ Jahbal had returned. Rikti was caught between sheer terror and surpassing awe.

“It is possible you were mistaken, Evett,” Eleus said after a while. “Another mage could have activated that circle, if they came across its twin in Jahbal’s fortress. I do hope that is the case. But—“ he exhaled heavily “—I fear it is not. Perhaps we are on the brink of something terrible.”

“What are we going to do?” Rikti squeaked, practically on instinct.

“Nothing, of course! Think for a moment!” Eleus cried. “Your victory over Xantan was pure chance. You know it as well as I do. Neither of you are prepared for true danger. You must not risk drawing attention to yourself, not if this talk of Jahbal is true.”

“I—well…“ Rikti trailed off. He didn’t want to admit it, but the danger felt a little too real now. He could almost see the hand of an ancient evil reaching out from the south, as plainly as if it’d waved hello. And yet—and yet—could he look away?

They all sat in silence for a bit. Eleus stood up slowly and dusted himself off. “Perhaps we ought to rest for a bit. I think we could use some fresh air. What do you lads say?” Without waiting for a response he pushed open a door in the back. Sunlight flooded into the smithy. There was a little porch there, overlooking the avenue behind Eleus’ shop as it sloped down gently back to the outer ring. Rikti had spent many an afternoon there before.

Shading his eyes, he stepped outside and sat on the balcony. Eleus came and stood next to him, while Evett leaned on the doorframe. Ancient white walls rose up around them. The serene towers seemed to mute all sound, and the conversations of Neopians walking by were hardly above a whisper. Even knowing about all the monster attacks, even knowing that Jahbal could be watching them at this very moment, it was hard to shake off the feeling of peace.

He felt a warm touch. It was Eleus, patting him on the head. Normally Rikti would have raised a complaint, but he didn’t mind it all that much today. He wanted to bask a little before confronting the future. Peace itself was a treasure worth enjoying… the happy prelude to a long tale.

Looking out over Xantan’s Pot, he was reminded of its namesake’s monstrous face. Amid those piercing screams, he recalled now, had been a pitiable feeling of regret. The cry of a creature who had wanted only to live, even when life itself became a torture too great to bear. But his city had outlasted him in the end. It had forgotten him.

Rikti let his eyes travel over the high spires and fluttering leaves. He couldn’t imagine anything worse in this world than losing what he wanted to protect. Losing his pride and glory. Suddenly he thought he understood the pain in Xantan’s voice a little better.

 _A hero… huh…_ And the last shred of doubt in his mind was erased.

“No matter what you say, I’m going.” He had to keep his voice steady. “Even if I can’t beat _him_ , I’ll go and fight some other way—”

“Rikti, we first met on this street, didn’t we?” said Eleus, interrupting him. “Years and years ago. The day when you climbed that tree.” He pointed. There was a line of tall beeches going down the avenue, their reddening fall leaves draping over the cobbles.

“Well, now that you mention it…” Rikti squinted at the nearest tree with a rueful grin. “It was my first time in Neopia City. I was trying to make an impression, you know?”

“I was reading on one of those benches, and when I looked up, lo and behold! I saw a little Korbat, barely a toddler, clinging to the highest branch.”

“And then I fell out, of course, and you rushed to catch me. But I did a backflip and stuck a perfect landing—”

“—on my head, as a matter of fact!” Eleus gave his beard a grouchy caress. “And so I learned this timeless adage: when Rikti aims for something, it is best to get out of his way.”

“Did you have to put it like _that_?!” Rikti turned to pinch Eleus’ cheeks, but to his surprise the old Kyrii’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“Eleus, you’re…“

“Really, you’ve always been so straightforward.” Eleus dabbed his cheeks hastily. “I knew you would go, of course. You and your brother really are too easy to read.”

Evett laughed, coming up next to him. “Yeah. Even I know that much.” Some deep emotion crossed his face, as if he was thinking of something far away. There it was—the spark Rikti had seen before. But it was a passing flash. His eyes were flat, almost like the surface of a calm sea. Or like a mirror hanging on some rich fellow’s wall. The sunlight crossing them seemed not to penetrate their depths.

“I have to go too,” Evett said finally, his voice thick with that strange emotion. “To find a way home. You’re right, I should lie low. But if this Jahbal guy is here, and I’m here, I can’t help but think there’s a connection. I have to find it. There isn’t a choice for me.”

Eleus was silent for a long while, surveying the city. It was just past noon, and the light was brighter then ever. When he spoke at last, it was with an effort at cheer. “All right, then. I suppose it falls to me to think of a plan that will keep your hides out of trouble.”

He thought for a moment. “There is one avenue you could explore. Some acquantainces of mine in the Guild of Scholars are conducting research in the jungle south of here, by the ruins of the Institute. Have you heard of it, Rikti?”

“Uh, a little. It used to be a school or something, right? Though it’s overrun by jungle pygmies and other monsters now.”

“Yes. I hear it holds a great store of records on magic and history. Perhaps even something about time travel. I think it will be of use to you, and relatively safe as long as you stay close to the scholars.” Stay close to those quill-pushers? Rikti winced at the mere thought.

“But you’ll need more than just your fists, Evett,” Eleus continued. He hesitated before speaking again. “Go back inside and look in the broom closet on the left. There’s a staff in there with a red orb.”

Evett nodded quizzically and disappeared indoors. “Whoa,” said Rikti. “Is that really okay? That thing’s a memento for you, right?”

“I haven’t done magic in years. He’ll need it more than I ever have.” Eleus gave Rikti a long look. “You’ll need to be careful. After all, you know far better than Evett what you’re up against.”

“And that’s why I’m doing it,” Rikti answered simply. “Careful’s not my style. I’ve always been up for crazy things, ever since the day I fell out of that tree. You know how I am.”

“I do. Though I wish I didn’t.” Eleus patted Rikti on the head again. This time it was like… like something he had felt a long time ago, back in the little house by the swamp. He forced himself to duck away.

Just then Evett returned, gripping a gnarled staff topped with a tiny red jewel. Ornate carvings ran up and down its length, which was nearly Rikti’s own height. It was his first time seeing it out in the open like this, and it looked… expensive. He was quite relieved he wouldn’t have to be the one using it.

“This is a weapon that will focus your magical power,” Eleus said to Evett. “I don’t remember enough to explain in more depth, unfortunately, but I’m sure my scholar friends can help. One of them is quite knowledgable on the topic, though he’s just an apprentice.”

“Wow. Thank you, Eleus.” Evett weighed it in his hands thoughtfully before putting it into his mystical bag. “I’ll be sure to use it well.”

“As long as you survive all this, that’s well enough for me.”

There was nothing left to say. Eleus led the duo back to the front of the shop. The room was still dark, almost mournful. “You don’t need to put the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he said. “Nor the weight of your future home. Out there, it’s easy to forget what you really want.”

“Don’t worry so much, Eleus,” said Rikti. “This’ll be an adventure. The Institute’s just the start, mark my words.”

Eleus seemed not to hear him. His face was wistful. “Stay safe, both of you. You’re not alone, no matter what you may think.”

And with that, Evett and Rikti were blinking in the noon sunlight of the busy street. The old smithy before them, its door once again firmly shut, seemed a world away.

“What’s that all about? He really is the moody type, huh,” Rikti remarked. Evett shrugged.

The day flew by quickly. They had to stock up on food, and there was also the matter of armor; the jungle pygmies were apparently known for their dangerous spears. Rikti worried about paying for it all, but it turned out that Evett’s stash of shiny coins—’Neopoints’, he called them—converted quite well into the local currency.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they were finished shopping, and the streets were crisscrossed with long shadows. The skies darkened. A cool breeze rushed in over the stone and thatch roofs, making Evett and Rikti pull their cloaks around them.

“We’d better leave before it starts pouring,” said Rikti.

“What? Why not just start tomorrow?” asked Evett as they descended the winding roads.

“The rain won’t let up for another two days at least, and we need all the time we can get. The southern peninsula’s a ways off.” As Rikti spoke, the first raindrops began to fall. The streets quickly emptied, and before long a few stragglers hurrying over the slick grey cobbles were all that remained.

“Come on, we’re almost out,” said Rikti impatiently. He was going faster now, practically flying. This district was where Mokti’s stall had been in the morning, and he didn’t want another unpleasant run-in.

Evett grabbed Rikti by the wrist. “Hey, are you sure about this? You won’t get another chance.”

“I know what I’m doing, okay?” said Rikti. He brushed Evett’s paw off and ran even farther ahead.

The rain really was coming down harder now, and the world was misty and indistinct. The sound of Evett’s footsteps faded. Rikti looked around for a moment, squinting at the foggy windows of the little storefronts lining the streets. He’d turned a wrong corner somewhere in his haste. Where was the gate?

Pulling his cloak over his head, he wandered down the street. Then he caught sight of Evett a few yards away, facing a familiar red-haired figure. Grimacing, Rikti ducked under a canopy before they caught sight of him.

“Tell me where you’re going, at least,” said Mokti heatedly. “I’m his guardian. I have a right to know.”

Evett said something in response that Rikti couldn’t hear, but it evidently wasn’t enough to please his brother.

“I’m serious! Once I lay eyes on that rascal, it’s over!” Mokti seethed. “Who does he think he is? I’m all he’s got! I’m all he’s got…” He trailed off. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Curious despite himself, Rikti strained to hear the words.

“Just promise me this, all right? Promise me you’ll…”

 _Spy on Rikti? Take his sword away? Lock him in the city jail?_ Rikti imagined a hundred possibilities, each less (or, knowing Mokti, _more_ ) plausible than the last. But whatever the promise was, he never heard it. And Evett never answered.

When the Lupe had gone, Mokti stood squinting after him. Rikti could just barely make out his brother’s face, blurred amid the raindrops. It was angry—furious, even—but then, at the last second, it looked defeated. Rikti couldn’t bear to watch any longer. He crept away onto a side street and then broke into a blind dash. The rain had him half-blinded as he tore through the deserted streets. Down he ran, down to the wide plaza and the waiting gate. Evett stood under the arch, his arms folded.

“Took you long enough. I’m drenched.”

“Let’s go, then,” said Rikti, putting on a brave face. Doubt didn’t suit him. That was how it ought to be.

He turned around one last time as they went through the Common Gate. The city’s tall spires gazed watchfully down, as they had that same morning. But now the gleaming ramparts and bright windows, tiny points of light in an ever-darkening sky, seemed like the eye of a brewing storm. And as Evett and Rikti walked farther into the distance, Neopia City—the shining beacon of this ancient plain—looked more and more like a fortress besieged by the oncoming tide of night.

* * *

_Promise me you’ll look after him._

The words echoed in Evett’s mind as he walked. He didn’t mention them out loud. It was better if Rikti didn’t know. And what could Evett promise, anyway? This wasn’t his world. He wasn’t bound to anyone in it.

The thoughts circled around and around but brought him no comfort. It took until evening for the rain to let up, leaving the world damp and gray. It fit the mood. Evett and Rikti made soggy camp at the edge of a wheat field near the old road that led south. A bit farther off, the outskirts of the jungle lurked menacingly—but they could wait until tomorrow.

“Why don’t you use Eleus Batrin’s fancy stick and light us a fire?” Rikti complained, poking the long staff with his foot. “I’m freezing here.”

Evett, in the midst of rummaging through his bag for a change of clothes, waved a paw irritably. “Can you do it? I’m a little busy.”

“I can’t use magic, remember? If you’re going to make fun of me, at least be logical about it.”

“Can’t use magic?” Evett looked up, frowning. “But this is just a weapon. You’re saying you can’t do anything with it at all?” He’d assumed Eleus’ staff was like the typical Battledome trinket: a charmed object that anybody could pick up and use. But this staff was different. No, not just the staff—

“This world’s different,” Rikti said. “I don’t know how things work where _you_ come from, but magic stuff needs a mage to wield it. ‘Cause it’s just an amplifier, see? The real power comes from inside you, and you have to be born with it. Or something.” He tapped his chest. “I mean, everyone knows that much. You’d better brush up fast, Master I-Didn’t-Know-I-Was-A-Mage.”

Evett grimaced. “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m new here. I’m used to faerie quests and spellbooks and things, not all this ‘inside you’ business.” Nevertheless, he picked up the staff and turned it over in his grasp. He wasn’t sure what to expect. But as soon as his attention was fixed on it, he felt a wellspring of warmth bubble up inside him. It rushed through his limbs and into the staff, whose gnarled surface seemed at once to become searingly hot. A tiny, bright flame leaped up from the orb at its tip.

“See, I knew you could do it!” said Rikti. “You’re a natural. Now let’s put that fire on these logs I gathered.”

Evett squinted at it. “Rikti, they’re soaking wet.”

“It’s the best I could do!”

Rolling his eyes, Evett hefted the staff and carefully pointed it at Rikti’s miserable pile of timber. _Come on, go already_ , he thought. To his amazement, the flame shot forth obediently from his staff and, in an instant, set the logs ablaze. Somehow he’d gotten it to work. Magic fire was magic, he supposed.

He sat back, suddenly feeling rather drained. But the heat and light were worth it. Their dismal camp on the border of the wilderness suddenly looked... cozy, almost. As tired and lonely and homesick as he felt, Evett couldn’t help but bask in it.

Rikti seemed to be thinking the same thing. He turned to Evett, smiling. “You’re really something else, you know that? Let’s reward you with some supper.”

He broke off some waybread and offered it to Evett. They ate together, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder by the fire. The air was quiet, but no longer quite as somber.

Rikti spent much of the time asking questions about the future. Evett answered them as best he could; he hadn’t had the money to travel much, and Neopia Central was what he knew best. Still, that was enough to impress anyone from the distant past.

“You’re telling me you can fire a beam at yourself and change your _species_?” Rikti exclaimed. “I can’t believe it! How does that work?”

“It’s science or something,” said Evett with a shrug. “Dunno. I can’t afford the lab ray anyway.”

“Labray? Laaabraaay. Huh. What a weird word.” Rikti absorbed this information. “Say, there’s something else I’ve been wondering. If you’re from the future, can you… I dunno… change it somehow? Since you’re here and all. I mean, what if you accidentally killed your own great-great-grandfather?”

Evett had read enough novels to know where this was going. “Hopefully I won’t be here long enough for it to matter,” he said dryly. But then he gave the question serious thought. “Actually, I’ve never heard about this era before in all my life, other than maybe the name of Neopia City. Not the Old Times, or mages, or any of it. I don’t think any modern Neopian knows about this time. So… I doubt anything I do will make much of a difference.”

He took a breath. The whole reality of this situation was finally impressing itself on him. ”We’re a long time apart, Rikti.”

“That long, huh?” said Rikti wistfully. “But even so, I’m glad there’s a Neopia out there where life can just be… normal. It sounds nice.”

At that Evett could find nothing to say. The fire went out not long after, reduced to a few glowing embers on the grass. The duo rolled out their blankets and lay down, staring up at the darkness.

A few moments passed. Rikti drew in a long breath and let it out again. Maybe he was thinking of Neopia City, or of his lonely brother. “I think I like it better here, though,” he said. “Not that your Neopia isn’t a great place—it is. But this is my home, you know? This is the world I’m going to save.”

His cheerful voice cut through the gloom like a knife. Evett couldn’t understand it. Who would risk their life for something like that? “Why?” he said out loud, almost without realizing it.

“Because that’s what heroes do, silly,” Rikti answered. “Travel the world with their friends and make things right. Isn’t it obvious? Look at all the great stories. Rosval and Faleinn’s journey—the war for the Valley of Song—even Erick and the Archmagus of Roo—”

“I thought you said you didn’t like Erick. That he was boring or something?” Evett smiled despite himself.

“Even Babaa herders have their good side.” Rikti chuckled sleepily. “There’s something worth telling in every tale. I’ll have to let you hear it sometime…”

He rolled over and, after mumbling a ‘good night’, drifted off. Soon his slow breathing and the rustling stalks of grain were all Evett could hear. He was alone again.

 _Traveling the world with friends..._ Evett wondered if he’d ever had a friend. There were acquaintances, strangers… his memory was a bit hazy there. Nothing of substance. But that was where he belonged. He’d made a fresh start there. What had he fought Xantan for, if not to grasp a chance at returning to the life he loved? He couldn’t let himself think of this other Neopia as anything but a distraction.

But then he heard Rikti’s voice, and he saw Mokti’s face in the rain, and suddenly he didn’t know what to believe.

That night he slumbered fitfully. He dreamed of the city he had just left, or some version of it: a great city with white walls and twinkling turrets. He dreamed of his home: the stolid high-rise, the golden lights, the clothes piled everywhere. And he dreamed of a cave. A dark, decrepit cave—not as loathsome as Xantan’s lair, but far more terrifying in Evett’s mind. Even in sleep, he shrank from it.

Far away, in the depths of the jungle, the music of the World played on.

* * *

In the great forests of southern Neopia, there stood a pair of mountains. They were named the Two Rings, for the way they curved to meet each other. Snow capped their peaks, and clouds skirted their slopes. The paths that zigzagged up their sides were long barren. No living Neopian dared come near.

Nestled in those mountain wastes sat a tumbled and broken palace, its tall black spires one step removed from myth. Within it lived a sorcerer from ancient times—only a formless shade now, but the winds were changing. Through his magic circles he saw all that passed in the world of Neopia, and he saw too that his long-laid plans were coming to fruition.

The sun was rising. Slowly Jahbal rose with it. “Something has happened to the west.”

The wandering of two little Neopets meant nothing to him. The fall of that decrepit traitor was but a trifle. No, his eyes were fixed on the movements of the great. Though he was not yet strong enough to command his beasts as he once had, that would soon change. The curse he had laid on them long ago brought him Neopia’s energy day by day. Every unthinking swipe of their claws was another drop of sustenance. The hour of his vengeance was near at hand. As he stared through his circle at the flattened blades of dry grass on those faraway plains, he could think of nothing else. The last gasp of Neopia, indeed.


	3. The Scholar's Heart

Morning came with little fanfare. Evett and Rikti stood and squinted in the light. They were three days out from Neopia City. The rainclouds had finally lifted for good, leaving only a perpetual muggy scent on the air. It was already uncomfortably warm. “Well, Evett, the road awaits,” said Rikti.

They had been following the road for a while. It was an old winding road, mapped long ago in prouder days. Once it had led many a student southward to the great libraries and schools of the peninsula; but now the schools lay empty, the libraries were choked with weeds, and the road itself had faded into a backwoods byway. The last of the bountiful wheat fields soon trailed off into dim and deserted brushland. And beyond that lay a low, impenetrable mass of vines and fronds: the jungle itself. Though not much of one, really—what these Neopians called a jungle looked more to Evett’s eyes like a foul-smelling bog.

“Doesn’t hold a candle to Mystery Island, I’d say,” he said, staring glumly into the marshy depths. “How are we supposed to find anything in here?”

“Should be along the road,” Rikti replied. “Hey, if Eleus Batrin’s friends could find that old school, we’ll manage it too.”

He sauntered inside, and Evett scrambled to follow suit. As soon as he did, the world seemed to change shape. Low-hanging fog choked out the light as swiftly as a curtain passing over the sky, and a heavy, cloying presence in the air rose up to replace it. Ferns and moss sprang up from the ground to wind around Evett’s legs with every step. Though most of the crawling plants and trees hardly rose higher than his head, he felt as if a crushing weight had fallen upon his shoulders.

“What’s up with this place?” he whispered. Even speaking was difficult.

Rikti shushed him. “It’s some kind of magic thing from the Old Times. A weird experiment the Institute was up to, I bet. Be careful. And for Neopia’s sake, stay on the road!”

 _Easier said than done,_ thought Evett. He was already following Rikti so closely they might as well have been joined at the hip—and even then it was hard to tell where they were going. With only the rhythmic squelching of their feet in the muddy bogs to keep time, nothing but the occasional gust of wind offered proof that they were making their way anywhere at all.

An hour in, they met their first attacker. An enormous black Zafara came lurching blindly out of a hole in the ground, swiping its massive claws. Evett saw it look straight at him with horrible crimson eyes, and for a moment he was too frozen to move.

“Watch out!” said Rikti, drawing his sword. Too slow—the Zafara savagely knocked him aside. He landed in a heap, dazed.

“Rikti!” Evett cried, regretting his hesitation. He unlatched his bag, thinking at first of his well-worn bat and slingshot, before he remembered Eleus’ staff. He drew it from the bag and closed his paw around it, feeling the warmth surge through the wood. A light waxed from the tiny orb at its tip.

The Zafara turned and once more fixed Evett, or rather Evett’s staff, with its red stare. There was something more than brute anger in the gaze, though—was it longing? Recognition? Fear? _No, no, focus. Focus!_ Evett screwed his eyes shut and channeled all his energy into the staff. _Come on, fireballs!_

It took a moment, but he felt heat rising from his paws, and saw a spark light up the dark forest. A tongue of flame rushed out from the orb. _Wait… too far left._ Evett waved the staff awkwardly, and like a whip the fire swung around at an angle, scalding the Zafara solidly across the chest. Evett blanched at the sight of the wound. He thought he’d have been used to all this by now, but—

In that moment of hesitation, the Zafara leaped desperately at him. He started forward, but too late he realized it was nearly on top of him. There was no time to prepare another blast. Without thinking he thrust the staff forward and struck the monster on its scraggly shoulder. He heard a loud _thwack_ , and the Zafara fell back with a loud whimper. It retreated, still staring blankly at him, before disappearing into the brush.

Evett took a deep breath in the sudden silence. The fight had taken a lot more out of him than he wanted to admit. Then came a cheery voice: “You really ought to work on your stance. With your feet splayed like that, it’s no wonder that monster got the jump on you.” It was Rikti, sitting upright next to the tree in perfectly good spirits.

“Wha—didn’t the Zafara send you flying?” Evett sputtered. “I was seriously worried about you!”

“Hey, it’s your fault you weren’t paying attention. If a lame jungle monster was enough to take me down I’d have just stayed home!” Rikti winked, evidently pleased with himself. “I was thinking of getting up to help, but your little fireworks show was worth the wait.”

Evett snorted but couldn’t resist a smile. “Okay, suit yourself. Anyway, let me bandage you up. You’ve got a gash on your head, no matter what you say.”

Afterwards they went on walking. The going was painfully slow; often the path broke off, obscured by undergrowth or side-trails forged by the monsters of the wetlands. And then there were the watchful eyes. Evett was sure the frightening pygmies were here somewhere, observing his and Rikti’s journey. There were other things too, other strange forces at work. He could feel the buzz of magic in the close air.

In the evening, Evett and Rikti were attacked again, this time by a small creature covered head to toe in makeshift armor and wielding a short spear. Rikti, deciding that Evett needed to save his strength, took it on bravely—well, ‘recklessly’ might have been the better word. They were in a small clearing choked by ferns and creeping vines, after all. Hardly the ideal place for close-quarters combat against an unknown foe.

“Don’t worry, that’s not a real pygmy,” Rikti told Evett. “Just a second-rate jungle knight. I can take this.”

Evett gripped his staff and watched as Rikti strode forward to meet the monster. The young Korbat drew his sword and held it up almost lazily. Exploiting that opening, his opponent snarled and rushed forward. The gleaming point of its spear hurtled forward, readying an inescapable strike.

But it had overstretched itself. Rikti jumped backward easily and then ducked. The monster’s blow went wide. As it lost its balance, Rikti leaped into flight. With casual elegance he spun in the air and stabbed it through a chink in its armor. Blood sprayed from the wound. Evett forced himself to keep his eyes open. The monster stumbled into a tree and slid quietly to the ground.

“That’s that,” Rikti said smugly, sheathing his sword. “And you thought I was in trouble!“

“No, I didn’t—”

“You did,” Rikti insisted. “But there’s nothing to worry about. See?” He stuck his chin up. Evett rolled his eyes.

Hoping to avoid any surprise attacks, they camped in a bushy glade not far off and went without a fire. Evett already missed the light and warmth. Rikti, though, was stretched out on the ground with a pensive look on his face.

“Gotta say, this takes me back,” he said. “I used to see this kind of thing every day.”

“You did? Oh, right, you’re from… Swampedge City, was it?”

“Yeah. Awful little port town.” But Rikti’s words belied the nostalgia in his voice. “That swamp’s a real one—not some conjured-up mess like this here. My family used to live right by it, and I always wandered off to explore. I had all these maps full of trails, caves, monster dens, the whole lot. ’Course, I always got yelled at by you-know-who. But it was pretty fun.”

“And that’s what made you want to be an adventurer?” Evett asked.

“Nah. Some other things happened.” A few seconds passed before Rikti went on. “I don’t really remember it, but the city was attacked by monsters. Must’ve been right after new moon’s day. Everyone was out celebrating, so they didn’t see the ghouls coming.

  
“Half the swamp was burned straight to the ground. I don’t know how many died. My parents, they… well, anyway, Mokti decided he didn’t want to stick around after that, so he took me and ran.”

The darkness suddenly felt much more oppressive than it had previously. “Sounds… reasonable.”

“Of course it is,” sighed Rikti, sitting up. “He’s that kind of guy. But _I’m_ not going to sit by anymore. I’ll defeat every monster myself if I have to.”

 _And how are you going to do that?_ Evett thought. He didn’t—couldn’t—say it out loud.

Rikti looked at him curiously out of the corner of his eye. “Well, enough heavy stuff,” he said, clapping Evett on the back. “Can’t you tell me more about your life? I mean, the things you do in your free time. You haven’t told me anything about that yet. I bet you get up to all kinds of fun things in the future, eh?”

Evett wished honesty came as easily to him as it did to his companion. “It’s nothing special,” he said at last. That, at least, was the truth.

* * *

Night passed into day twice more as they plodded through the marshes. At last, he began to sense they were getting somewhere; the path was easier and the wildlife less choking. It looked like someone had been haphazardly clearing the brush. Rikti inspected the surroundings with interest.

“Looks like the air isn’t as crazy here,” he said, squinting upwards. “I’m gonna take a look-see.” With that, he took flight and disappeared into the shadows of the lofty branches. Evett watched, a little worried again despite himself. When had he gotten so concerned about Rikti’s well-being, anyway?

A few moments passed. Then Rikti landed on the ground with a thump, his face as red as his hair. “Evett!” he said breathlessly. “We’re almost there! Come on, you’ve gotta see this!”

Grabbing the bewildered Lupe by the wrist, he took off down the road at breakneck speed. Evett ducked to avoid the masses of leaves hitting him in the face. “What? See what? Do you mean the—” They burst into the light. Evett blinked, caught off guard, and then gasped.

The enchantment of the jungle was lifted. It was noon or thereabouts, and the sun sat above him at the center of a spotless blue sky. He was standing in a large and pleasant clearing ringed by tall hedges that warded off the creeping growths beyond. The grass and hedges were overgrown and ragged with time’s inevitable intrusions, but Evett could still discern the care that had once gone into their keeping.

And behind the hedge, gleaming in the light, was a mighty tower of unutterable age. Its rounded white walls reminded Evett of Neopia City’s great turrets, though far wider—but this tower, as tall and beautiful as it was, stood in decrepit ruins. Jungle vines crept up and strangled it on every side. Its elegant stonework was crumbling to pieces, with ghastly holes peering out from the ivy at intervals. Wind whistled from the cracks in the windows as Evett and Rikti approached.

There was one place that stood out, however: an enormous glass dome atop the tower, built from hundreds of cunningly crafted panes. A few had been pierced, but the rest shimmered with an ethereal splendor unbroken by the count of years.

“Amazing,” breathed Evett. “It looks kind of… futuristic.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Rikti. “All that glass. The Old Times really were something else, huh?”

Surrounding the tower was an array of outbuildings, smaller and humbler, all in equal states of disrepair. There were dozens of them; Evett and Rikti stood in the center of what had once been the crossroads of a great house of learning. They were at a loss for words. There was an unspeakable sense of sadness hanging in the wind, as if the land itself mourned the glory that had once been.

Then a loud voice split the air. “What’s your business here, rascals?”

A large Bruce was hurrying towards them, juggling several scrolls, an enormous pack, and a stout dagger. Following closely behind him were an out-of-breath Lenny and Kacheek, similarly burdened. They had come from one of the side buildings.

“Uh, good afternoon,” said Rikti nervously.

“None of that now!” said the Bruce, flourishing his dagger with aplomb. “If you’ve come for loot, you’d best be off. We’re doing research here, and we’re prepared to defend it!”

Rikti held up his hands quickly. “No no, we’re not bandits! Eleus Batrin sent us here. We’re, uh, we’re doing some research ourselves. I’m Rikti, and this big lunk here is Evett.” Evett elbowed him unsubtly.

“Friends of old Eleus? Well, I’ll be!” the Bruce bellowed, his mood changing instantly. He shook their hands with vigor. “Pleased to meet you both. I’m Denethrir, scholar extraordinaire! Rare to see young folks like you taking an interest in history! Why, you ought to meet Tylix here!” And he shoved the flustered Kacheek in front of him.

“Hello,” said Tylix, a slim type with neatly combed blue hair. He looked about the same age as Rikti, though decidedly more composed in manner. “I’m Tylix, and this—“ he gestured to the tall Lenny behind him, who waved self-consciously “—is Margoreth. We’re Master Denethrir’s apprentices.”

“Indeed! And they’re brilliant, too!” Denethrir clapped Tylix hard on the back, making him cough. Evett was seriously beginning to wonder what kind of life this trio led. “Anyway! I’m sure Eleus told you all about us. We’re investigating the libraries here for records from the Old Times. Mostly botanical, but everything’s of interest! Would you like to hear more?”

“Well—“ Rikti began.

“Perfect! We’re stopping for lunch now, so why don’t you dine with us?” said Denethrir, sitting down right where he stood and rummaging through his pack. His students meekly followed suit. Evett and Rikti looked at each other, shrugged, and joined them.

“So, ah… why did you come _here_ , specifically?” Evett ventured, after a few bites of omelette. “Isn’t it dangerous with all the monsters?”

“Of course, but knowledge is worth the risk!” Denethrir answered. “There have been several expeditions to the Institute—that’s what this facility was called—that have made it relatively safe! No need to worry, unless of course you try the big tower! It’s a wonderful place otherwise, if you’re well-armed—” He choked on his bread. Margoreth hurriedly administered to him with a napkin.

“…Okay,” said Rikti slowly. “And what’s wrong with the big tower?”

Tylix sighed. “Tower Gaia, it’s called. It’s a pygmy hideout. I’m sure you’ve heard of those vicious things. They rarely venture outside their dens, whether here or in the jungle, but most who enter don’t come back.”

“Precisely!” said Denethrir, still staving off a bread-induced cough. “A shame, since Neopia’s largest library of magic is housed inside, but even the best scholars must make compromises!”

Magic? Evett’s ears perked up. “What kind of magic?” he asked. “I’m a mage myself, so I’m, uh, professionally interested.”

“A mage? Oh, it’s not often you see one of those.” Margoreth nudged Tylix. “Our friend here happens to be an expert, by the way.”

“It’s not that fancy,” said Tylix modestly. “This is really all I can manage.” He held one finger outstretched. A small, glowing sphere of ice fell from it like a raindrop and arced into a grateful Denethrir’s canteen. “But to answer your question, Evett, no one really knows what exactly is inside. Mages in the Old Times studied much that has been lost today—I doubt there’s anywhere else in Neopia with even half the lore. If there were some way to explore it…”

The words hung in the air for a moment, almost beckoning. Rikti and Evett traded a glance and nodded. Then Rikti leaned forward. “Well, there is. Because Evett and I are going in.”

“ _What?!_ ” cried Denethrir and Margoreth simultaneously.

“Do you really mean that?” said Margoreth once she had recovered. “Haven’t you been paying attention to us?”

“Indeed!” Denethrir chimed in. “What could possibly drive you to venture inside?”

“If what you’ve just said is right, then we have to go,” said Evett urgently. “Eleus Batrin himself told us to look here for information on magic, and that’s the best place.”

“Now hold on,” said Margoreth. “Surely Eleus meant one of the smaller storehouses. There’s still plenty of lore there—admittedly, it’s not as high-caliber, but—”

“Trust me, I need the highest caliber there is,” said Evett. “I’m after information on time travel. I’ve got, uh, a special situation on my paws.” Tylix tilted his head curiously at this.

“And we’re going to drive out those pygmies too,” Rikti vowed. “Make this place safe, like it used to be. A couple of monsters won’t stop us.” He jumped to his feet. “And with that, we’re off! Thanks for everything.”

“Good luck with your botanic research,” Evett added. With that they departed, heading for the base of Tower Gaia.

* * *

Tylix stared after them, silent in the noon breeze. He’d seen their faces before—once, twice, a thousand times. He knew what they would face, more surely than they did themselves. A few seconds passed. Then, as if pulled by some other force, he too stood up.

“I’m sorry, both of you,” he said, gazing up at the shining dome. “But I need to follow them. I have to see everything there is to see.”

He turned, expecting a reproach. But instead Margoreth and Denethrir were looking at him with a mix of resignation and, oddly enough, satisfaction.

“I figured it would come to this,” said Margoreth with a laugh. “You’re you, after all. The star student. I knew you wouldn’t turn down a chance like this.”

Denethrir nodded solemnly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than Tylix had ever heard it. “I can’t approve of this, naturally, but neither can I forbid it. Do what you must.”

Tylix smiled, moved despite himself. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to bring you all my results.”

“Yes! If you are set on going, then go!” said Denethrir, his voice rising to a shout once more. He pushed Tylix in the direction of the tower. “Go, and fulfill your scholarly duties!”

“I’ll cover your notes for you, so don’t worry,” Margoreth called after him. “Hurry back soon! Don’t let those two sword-swingers get too big for their breeches!”

“I won’t!” Tylix answered, setting off at a headlong run. “Goodbye!” There was no reply, at least none that he could hear over the heartbeat pounding in his ears. His fellow scholars were forgotten. Or perhaps, to a youth on a quest that only he understood, they had never mattered to begin with.

The meadow seemed a thousand miles long, and he knew only danger waited at the end of it. But he closed his eyes, remembering the dream he had seen on a distant night. He kept running.

* * *

Evett and Rikti were on the doorstep of Tower Gaia when they saw Tylix speeding towards them.

“Knew it,” said Rikti. Evett merely shook his head.

In another minute the yellow Kacheek had reached them. “Nice to meet you again,” said Tylix, smoothing down his tunic. “Please accept me on your expedition.” He stretched out his paw.

“Uh.” Evett took the paw and shook it, nonplussed. “Okay, we’ve got a grand total of one applicant, so… you’re accepted? Just try not to get in the way.”

“Great. Okay, then.” Tylix strode up to the rotting wooden door and, without the slightest hesitation, pulled it open. Inside was an ordinary-looking stone corridor, lined with moss and cobwebs. “What are we waiting for?”

Rikti eyed Evett as if to say, _Guess he’s gung-ho at least._ There was nothing else to discuss. As one, the three stepped into the tower. Behind them, the enormous door swung shut with a clang.

Evett expected to be greeted with the same darkness and stench that had permeated Xantan’s cave, but the tower was aglow with sunlight. It streamed through every hole in the moldering walls. Sculptures and plaques, decayed but still standing, decorated the hallway. Tylix studied them with excitement.

“Can you actually read that stuff?” asked Rikti.

“It’s not _stuff_ , it’s Kayannin script,” Tylix replied. “It was already falling out of use by the end of the Old Times, but some formal inscriptions still bear it. See, this one names the Lords of the Institute. Inwyn, Sachiel, Kor… ah, Korabric? It’s a little hard to decipher.”

“Fascinating,” said Rikti in a monotone.

Evett waved his paw impatiently. “We don’t have time to mess around. The pygmies could jump out at any moment.”

“I suppose you’re right,” sighed Tylix. They went on.

The corridor, it soon became apparent, was hideously complex; it branched and split without rhyme or reason, and whatever signage had once existed had long since fallen away. Dozens of classrooms and lecture halls popped up on every side. The trio checked them carefully, but they held little aside from the rotting remains of desks, still perfectly aligned in rows. The sight of them, frozen in time, was unnerving.

“Why was this place abandoned?” asked Evett.

“Nobody knows,” said Tylix. “Except the pygmies, maybe. We’re the first ones to conduct a real investigation of this place in centuries.”

They pushed deeper into the interminable maze. Even with the smattering of sunlight, Evett was forced to pull his lantern from his bag. The walls were close, and every now and then the distant sound of scuffling feet made them freeze.

They were rounding a corner, half an hour in, when they suddenly heard the noise right before them. Footsteps and spear-tips beat rhythmically on the stone. Shadows drew closer. There was nowhere to hide. Rikti quickly pushed Tylix behind him and unsheathed his sword. “Okay, here we go!” he said. But, Evett noticed, his face was tight with apprehension.

The pygmies appeared, three of them. They were… scraggly Meepits in hide shirts and too-big helmets. Their fur, even in this somber place, was ridiculously pink; Evett was reminded of one of his neighbors’ Petpets back home. He could have laughed out loud—but then he caught their seething eyes and the gleaming spears, taller than they were, gripped in their paws. An evil aura lurked about them. This was not Evett’s home, and these were no ordinary Meepits. An absurd, belated trickle of fear went down his spine.

No time to lose. Rikti and Evett charged forward before the pygmies could react to their sudden appearance. Evett grabbed his staff. He felt heat flowing into it already, bolstered by his desperation. All he had to do was stand back and blast. They would never see it coming.

But then the pygmies leaped into the air. They were faster than either Evett or Rikti had guessed. Before Evett could so much as shout, one of them was behind him, driving him headfirst into the wall. Evett felt his breath being pummeled out of him. He turned, trying desperately to fire his staff in the attacking pygmy’s direction, but the shot missed and went wide, scorching the floor instead. Dust scattered through the hall.

In the confusion Evett was knocked on his back. The world spun. His staff rolled just out of reach. He caught a glimpse of Rikti not far away, locked in a desperate battle. He’d managed to wound one of the pygmies somehow, but the other one was parrying every strike. Evett wanted desperately to stand up and help, but in that moment a pygmy appeared right above him. Its eyes were ferocious. Chattering wildly, it pointed its spear at his face and brought it down hard.

 _CLANG!_ Evett jerked his head and saw the pygmy’s spear-tip strike the ground inches from his face. A bare miss. He was sweating. Where was his staff? He reached around blindly. Yes—there it was! But just as he closed his paw around it, he looked up and saw the spear racing down at him, the metal glinting like a shooting star. His heart caught in his throat. There was no time to think. Letting out a primal yell, he swung the staff upward with as much force as he could muster.

A piercing sound rang out like the note of a gong, followed by the rush of energy leaving him. By sheer luck or fate, Evett had struck the pygmy in the side of its helmet. The fire had melted half of it off. Shrieking, it staggered and fell. Its spear clattered uselessly to the ground next to Evett’s head. Somehow, he’d won. It was getting easier and easier to kill.

He got to his feet, trying to recover his bearings. Tylix was unharmed, rooted to the spot where Rikti had left him; Rikti himself was still dueling the lone remaining pygmy. Easy pickings. Evett pointed his staff and fired at its back without a second thought. With a piercing cry, it slunk away.

Silence. Evett slumped to the ground, exhausted. Rikti hurried to his side, with Tylix following more slowly.

“Hey, you all right there, buddy?” said Rikti, though he didn’t look quite well himself. “Thanks for helping me.”

“No problem,” Evett mumbled. “I feel like I pulled an all-nighter…”

“You fought hard,” said Tylix seriously. He didn’t look nearly as frightened as Evett had expected, though his face was pinched as if he’d witnessed something unpleasant. “I’ve never seen a fight like that in the flesh.”

“You’ll get more,” Rikti advised him. “Bet every pygmy in this place knows we’re here now. We’d better move.” Something in him looked deflated.

They took a few more minutes to stuff the pygmies in a nearby classroom, but after that they could spare no more time for dawdling. As tired as Evett felt, he would have to recover on the move. The corridor wound on through the bowels of Tower Gaia, seemingly endlessly. The constant fear of another attack made for a long and arduous walk. Several times they had to hide as bands of pygmies raced by. The dragging hafts of their brutish spears scored the ground; that hideous sound, and the tap-tap of their scurrying feet, echoed nightmarishly in the halls.

“All these dead ends,” Rikti whispered as they searched the winding passages for clues. “Amazing how these Old Times folk didn’t walk into walls on their way to class. But I guess they were smarter than us.”

“Of course they were,” said Tylix. “From what I’ve read, there used to be dozens of these universities all over Neopia—but even with all that knowledge, the Institute was the best of the best. It was founded by Anselt and Faleinn of the Twelve. Isn’t this place amazing?”

Rikti shrugged and pushed open the door of another lecture hall. “Dunno. I know my letters and that’s all I need. Speaking of which, here’s some more parchment on the floor. Think we can find a map?” He began to dig through the pile.

“Watch out! Those could be valuable.” With a huff, Tylix delicately unrolled the scroll nearest him. “See? This one’s all about gems—hard refractors, as scholars call them. Evett, I’m sure you know about those.” He nodded at the red orb sitting on the tip of Evett’s staff.

“Not much, actually,” Evett confessed. “To be honest, I didn’t know I was a mage until, uh, two days ago.”

Tylix started. “What? You can’t be serious. How are you throwing fireballs like that with no training?”

“Hey, c’mon,” said Rikti. “Is it _that_ weird?”

“For a total beginner? You don’t know the half of it.” Tylix shook his head, looking half-awed and half-skeptical. “Well, Evett, I’d better tell you a little about magic while we’re in here. Somebody has to, and I don’t think Rikti here will be any help.“ Rikti scowled but was unable to refute this point.

And so, as they combed this room and then the next and the next, Tylix began to explain the powers that held this ancient Neopia together. Evett couldn’t say he had ever wondered about it before; it was just one more peculiarity of this peculiar world, a world that he longed to escape. But the more Tylix spoke, the more curious he felt.

“To start with, magic is energy,” Tylix said, adopting the voice and manner of a particularly wizened professor. “Nobody really knows where it originates. Some scholars think it comes from something in the air, or that it was granted to us by the World.” He pronounced this last word with particular emphasis. “But anyway, it’s a kind of energy that fills everything on this earth, from the clouds in the sky to the grass on the ground. And Neopets have the ability to control it.”

“But not everyone’s a mage,” said Evett. He nodded at Rikti, who was thumbing through the latest sheaf of parchment with an utterly bored expression.

“Right. We all have energy within us, but only some Neopets can express it on the outside. It’s part bloodline, part training. In your case, I guess your bloodline is _very_ powerful,” he added, looking Evett up and down.

Evett frowned. “Maybe it’s because of where I’m from,” he murmured. Tylix raised his eyebrow, but Evett was too deep in thought to notice. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew his heritage had nothing to do with it. He’d never done magic before, after all. It seemed to rise from the earth itself—from this strange, faraway land.

“…Anyway, mages specialize in different things,” Tylix went on. “Depending on their studies and natural inclinations, their power expresses itself in different ways. Some can disguise themselves, or read minds, or create illusions… all sorts of things. Mages used to be able to replicate certain spells by drawing magic circles, but that art was lost a long time ago. Nowadays you have to learn everything from scratch, and most don’t bother.”

“I can see why,” said Evett.

“Oh, but all mages have a talent—a basic skill, you could call it,” Tylix added. “That one isn’t any trouble at all.”

“Talent?”

“There are five: fire, ice, shock, spectral, and life. You have fire, obviously, and I have ice.”

“So this orb on my staff, or refractor or whatever, makes the fire come out,” Evett guessed.

“Not quite. It just acts as a way to focus and amplify power. Yours happens to be a fire gem, so if somebody puts magic into it, they’ll produce fire no matter their talent. But it’s best suited for fire mages, of course.”

“Okay. Do you have one of your own, then?”

Rikti coughed. “They’re _jewels_ , Evett, and he’s an apprentice. Come on.”

“He’s right,” Tylix said with a rueful laugh. “I’m just a hobbyist. You’re lucky you have an orb to play with. But be careful with it. You saw today that it’ll drain you quickly if you’re not prepared.” He tapped the staff. “It’s impossible to reverse a spell, you see. You can cancel it out with another—if I made a crystal, say, you could melt it with your fire—but you can’t undo it and get the energy back. So when you use that staff, keep your limits in mind.”

“Uh, I’ll try,” said Evett, beginning to feel as if he should have taken notes. Why was the magic of the past so different from what he knew? What had happened to it in his own time, and why did he have it now? All these rules and principles seemed to have come out of nowhere. There were just too many questions.

“You sure know a lot,” he said.

Tylix looked pleased, though he quickly hid it. “Thanks. I was worried I’d said too much. I’ve always been interested in magic, though it isn’t my official area.” He grasped the parchment reverently, as if trying to divine its secrets. “Magic is what makes us Neopets special. I want to learn everything I can about it while I still have the chance.”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Saying too much again. Anyway, that’s an introduction. Judging by the time, we’ll have to stop there.”

Evett looked outside in surprise. It was getting dark. Somehow the whole afternoon had gone by. They’d explored probably a dozen corridors in that time, and hidden from as many pygmy bands. It was tiresome work.

“Let’s call it a day,” said Rikti. “Think I’ve heard enough mage banter for a while.”

“I don’t know what you expected,” Tylix answered crossly. “If we ever get to the library, there’ll be more.”

“Don’t remind me. So who wants to take first watch?”

Evett shrugged. “One of you should. Then you’ll be able to sleep soundly afterwards. I don’t mind being woken up, myself.”

“Neither do I,” said Tylix. “Rikti, I guess that leaves you.”

“You don’t have to go easy on me,” Rikti protested, flushing scarlet. “Just because I’m the youngest—“

“No one said anything about that! Just take it and be grateful.” Evett lay down and shut his eyes pointedly. With a last round of grumbling, the others followed suit. What a long trip this was becoming.

* * *

The next day, fearing that the pygmies would catch wind of them, they moved quicker. The first floor was long behind them, and the second nearly a memory, before they finally found a map of the building.

“Great!” Tylix exclaimed. He lay the scroll carefully on a desk. Ink scrawlings covered it like a dense cloud. “Okay, let’s see… I’m guessing the Head Library is what we want. That’s on the seventh floor. There should be a stairway nearby. It’s in an atrium—seems like a big open space. We’ll be able to see clearly from there.”

They walked until they came to an ornate set of doors, twice their height or more, and still imposing in their half-rotted state. Behind them was a gorgeous sight: a huge atrium covered over in fallen leaves, beneath which a spotless white marble floor peeked out. There was an enormous, inert fountain standing in the center. At its base it was lined with stone benches and sculptures of abstract shapes. All were adorned with swooping lines carved finely into the surface, a testament to the skill of their makers. And growing out of disused vases, or climbing over dusty pillars, were flowering plants of all kinds. They were sweet-smelling, colorful, and somehow stately. The greenery had been hacked at by pygmy spears, and some of it was withered and dead, but a disheveled kind of allure still rose from it.

“Wow, look up there,” said Rikti. The floors above them, ten or more, all opened into the round room; the concentric circles of each rising balcony stretched upward until, far above them, they caught a glimpse of daylight winking off the panes of the rooftop dome. The clouds pulled back as they watched, and wan beams shone down, bathing the courtyard in a golden glow. It was a beautiful sight.

Evett imagined this place in happier days—full of young scholars chatting with their friends, or rushing from one hall to the next, or just basking on the benches after a morning of hard work. Even now a ghost of that happiness seemed to linger. For the first time he realized what the Institute had once been. He felt like an intruder disturbing something that had gone long ago to its final rest.

“Fantastic, isn’t it?” said Tylix. “Makes the Guild of Scholars in Sunnytown look like child’s play.” He pointed to a rickety wooden spiral staircase on the other side. It only went up to the seventh floor, but that was good enough. “Anyway, we’re headed that way.”

They climbed the staircase in single file. As they went up, the placid beauty of the courtyard receded into a familiar sense of fear. No one said a word, but the ominous sound of the steps creaking echoed throughout the atrium. Halfway up the stairs, Evett thought he heard something else mixed in with the echoes. He looked down over the banister. Six pygmy warriors looked back.

“Uh-oh,” said Evett.

Rikti turned around. “Did you say something?”

“I said _pygmy alert! Run!_ ”

They ran. Behind them, the pygmies were ascending the stairs at frightening speed. They were ten steps behind and gaining. The sound of spears and footsteps was like a rolling storm.

“We’re going to get caught at this rate,” Tylix yelled from the back.

Rikti growled in annoyance. “Okay. All right, leave this to me.” He shoved both Evett and Rikti in front of him. “Get to the top, both of you! I’ll hold them back!”

“Rikti, you can’t be serious—“ Evett exclaimed between breaths.

“Just do what I tell you!”

His voice was drowned out by the pounding echoes. Evett and Tylix raced up the steps, leaving him behind. They heard the sounds of pygmy yells and clashing metal. Evett looked down in alarm as he ran. Rikti was a few flights below them, swinging his sword in a frenzy. The six pygmies were practically on top of him with their spears, and as Evett watched they slammed Rikti into the banister. The whole staircase groaned and shook.

“We’re almost there,” gasped Evett. “Come on!”

A few steps more, and they were on the seventh floor, high above the fight. They peered over the balustrade. “Rikti! _Rikti!_ ” Evett shouted, his heart pounding. He was afraid. Afraid for—for his friend.

A voice answered, interrupted by the clang of metal. “Burn it down!”

“What?!”

“ _Burn it down!_ ”

Evett and Tylix looked at each other, then at the wooden banister. There was no doubt of Rikti’s meaning. Gulping, Evett leveled his staff at the wood, channeled his energy, and released a blast. The topmost posts burst into flame.

The blaze inched down the banister; the wood blackened and split. Evett heard the staircase’s creaky protest, and the pygmies’ yells down below. He began to get an inkling of Rikti’s plan. But the staircase still stood; this wasn’t enough.

Evett gritted his teeth and fired again. And again, and again. His eyes were watering in the smoke. Sweat broke out all over his body. The flame was roaring now. With a loud crack, one of the posts toppled; the other hung by a thread. The staircase careened to one side.

“Last—time—“ Evett sank to his knees and lifted the staff once more. It was heavy, so heavy. How many times had he used it today? He concentrated the last dregs of his power into one final push. _Boom._ A tongue of flame shot out, shining brilliantly even in its maker’s exhaustion. It engulfed the air. The post split in half, teetered, and fell.

Though his head was spinning, Evett managed to look out over the balustrade again. The flaming staircase was in freefall. The pygmies were screaming, scrambling to flee, but they were already about to crash. And Rikti, still swinging his sword to the last, was taking flight. A streak of red soared upward, almost level with the seventh floor—

“There’s a pygmy hanging on to him,” Tylix shouted. Evett squinted through the haze in his mind. He saw Rikti flailing in midair, and then a pink blur hanging on to Rikti’s foot, its hide shirt already catching fire. It slashed wildly at Rikti’s wings with its free paw.

“It’s… trying to take him down with it,” Evett said in horror. He reached for his staff, but he already knew he couldn’t manage another shot. Spots flickered at the edge of his vision.

Suddenly Tylix spoke up calmly. “Well, if this is where we’re at, I’ll help.” Evett turned in astonishment. Ice began to form in the Kacheek’s fist. Larger and larger it grew, taking the form of a jagged crystal. His breath began to sound uneven.

“Wait, stop!” said Evett. “I thought you said you couldn’t do that much! What are you—“ He scrambled for his bag and finally pulled out his slingshot. “At least use this!”

“Thanks,” said Tylix, taking it. His voice sounded distant. Something in it, beyond the stress of maintaining his magic, carried a note of melancholy. “You’re right, I’m not that powerful… but this kind of thing doesn’t scare me. Though I wish it did.”

In the air, Rikti was still struggling to no avail. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. Finally Tylix held up the crystal; it had grown to a good four inches in diameter. He gave it an approving look, then glanced back at Evett. “Sorry, by the way.”

“Huh?” said Evett faintly. “What for?”

“For making you think I’m a good kid.”

He aimed the slingshot and, without hesitation, fired the crystal. It hurtled silently through the air, stoic where Evett’s flames had been bright. And it landed home, square on the pygmy’s chest. For a moment nothing seemed to happen; it was if the world had frozen in this one flash of perfect chaos. Then, soundlessly, wordlessly—perhaps fatigue and burns had taken their toll—the pygmy released its grip and tumbled down, down through the pillars of ash. Evett never saw it land. He turned away just as Rikti fell in a heap on the balcony.

There was no sound but the hiss of flames. All three of them were tired beyond words. For a few moments it was beyond Evett’s power even to crawl. Instead he stared out over the balustrade with stinging eyes. The courtyard was alight, burning in a hideous mockery of the soft sunbeams that had warmed it for so many years. Bitter smoke rose and filled Evett’s lungs. _You had to do this,_ he told himself. _It doesn’t matter. None of this matters…_ But a sick feeling took root in his heart.

“Rikti, what were you thinking?” he growled, though he couldn’t quite summon the energy for anger. “You’re lucky to be alive after that stunt.”

“I almost had it,” Rikti mumbled, getting to his feet. “Next time I won’t mess up, okay? Let’s just get to the library.”

“Right,” said Tylix, coughing and fanning his face. He looked perfectly scholarly, so much so that Evett doubted his own memory. “As I recall, it’s down this way.”

Evett forced himself to stand and follow them. They shuffled away from the balcony in a sad procession. Ahead of them was a hallway lit cheerfully by sconces on the walls. Evett asked himself dimly why the pygmies would bother maintaining this place, but he had no time to consider the thought. At the end of the hallway stood a wide set of double doors, finely carved and polished. Unlike the others, they were in perfect condition. This, according to the plaque next to it, was indeed the Head Library.

Tylix pulled open the doors and beckoned the other two inside. The room they were in was hardly the gleaming palace of knowledge Evett had expected, though it certainly seemed large enough. The candlelight was dim, the air musty, and the aisles (dozens of them) crammed with stacks of dimly-visible scrolls. Rikti inhaled a cloud of dust and sneezed, sending the soot on his face flying. After all the pain and effort taken to get here, the scene was almost offensively mundane.

Evett and company stumbled down the main corridor to the center of the library. As they did, a large wall of floor-to-ceiling windows came into view. The windows faced southwest, gazing over the frayed ends of the great peninsula. Clear evening light shone over the jungle, painting the trees with the pleasant colors of sunset. Beyond them lay the twinkling sea.

Evett touched the glass. For a moment he could imagine that he was seeing this from far away; that he was wrapped up in his own blanket, watching a distant and serene world. A familiar pang of longing hit him. Here, even the mundane was a comfort.

“Say,” said Rikti in a low voice, “doesn’t this place look awfully clean for a thousand-year-old ruin?”

 _Thump. Thump._ Uneven footsteps echoed unevenly through the room. The trio froze as a shadow turned the corner towards them. The wheezing breaths of some creature was approaching. There was no time to run, and in their condition they wouldn’t get far. They waited with bated breath as the shadow drew nearer. But it was not a pygmy that approached them, nor some other monster of the jungle. It was… an old Buzz.

Actually, ‘old’ hardly began to describe him. He was bent double, limping with the aid of a gnarled cane; his long, disheveled beard trailed on the floor as he walked. Large, filmy green eyes stared out feebly, seeming to register the visitors only after several seconds had passed.

“You… who are you?” said the Buzz in a reedy whisper. “Is it over? Is it over at last?” His cane stretched forward, trembling.

By unspoken agreement, it was decided that Tylix would do the talking. The young apprentice stepped out in front hastily, raising his paws. “We’re scholars here to look at the library, that’s all. Who are you?”

“Me?” The old Buzz seemed surprised, as if he hadn’t heard the question in a long time. “It’s… why, it’s Korabric.”

“Korabric?” Tylix furrowed his brow. “Korabric, Korabric—wait. That name was on the plaque of Lords at the entrance, wasn’t it?”

“Lord… yes, I was the Lord of this place once.” He squinted at some undefined point in the air before recovering his train of thought. “That was many years ago. Before the wars.”

Tylix gasped. “Then you really are _that_ Korabric?” he said. “But that would mean you’re from the Old Times! You must be a powerful mage to have lived all this time.”

“Am I? I suppose so,” mumbled Korabric. “The Old Times? Is that what they call it now? Ah, how the time passes. You three look so much like the students that used to roam these halls. I would shout after them as they scattered my papers…” He lowered himself to the ground. Cautiously the trio followed suit.

“You are in great danger,” he said suddenly. “Do you know of Rollay Scaleback?”

“Uh… no, sir.”

“Perhaps he did not attain fame. So much the better… ah.” Korabric squeezed his eyes shut. “I am sorry, young ones. My memory comes and goes. Every time I try to leave this library, I grow weaker.”

“Take your time,” said Tylix. “Um, who is this Rollay Scaleback? Does he have something to do with the pygmies, by chance?”

“Yes, indeed,” Korabric said slowly. “As I remember it… he came here not long after Xantan rebelled. The Twelve desired more strength, and his research was promising. But what he produced was a mutation of life. The Corrupted.“

Tylix stiffened. Rikti and Evett looked at him questioningly. “What’s that mean?” Rikti whispered.

“It’s the old name of the monsters,” said Tylix. “It looks like this Rollay made the creatures that roam Neopia, somehow.”

Rikti gasped. “Are you serious?!”

Evett blinked in surprise. He’d thought the monsters were just some natural, unfalteringly evil phenomenon. It was frightening to consider the possibility of a single Neopian unleashing them upon the world. But then, for these great sorcerers who toyed with fate itself, what _wasn’t_ possible?

“The Corrupted were of use to the Twelve for many years in their battle against Xantan,” Korabric continued distantly. “I remember seeing the armies and cheering them on. But then Jahbal cursed them to be his servants for eternity. I do not know what he did, or what happened in the wars after. What a scholar I am.” He began to mumble in a thin whisper. “How I came to be imprisoned here… the fate of Rollay and the Institute and Neopia… all is a mystery to me.”

For a moment he stared fixedly at the floor. The trio waited patiently. Then, with a note of hope, he spoke again. “Tell me, what do scholars learn in this age?” he asked. “No one has come here in so long. The Institute’s knowledge must be far surpassed by now. I am glad to have laid the foundations for your era’s greatness.”

Tylix cleared his throat before responding as diplomatically as he could. “We scholars learn a great deal, sir. But we’ve yet to surpass you. The wars you mentioned were catastrophic to Neopia… a great deal was forgotten.”

“The Institute as well? The Lords? Even that was lost?” The silence was answer enough. Korabric bowed his head. “I see. Perhaps it was arrogant of me to expect better. The river of time washes all things away, as they say.”

He turned to look out the window. His hunched silhouette was a forlorn black streak against dusk’s violet hues. “What is knowledge worth?” he said softly. “I dedicated my life to guiding the wise. Yet here I am still, and wisdom has fled. The flower of Neopia will never bloom again. All I can do is hide.”

Tylix stared at Korabric with an unreadable expression. Rikti shifted restlessly. Evett, though, followed the old Buzz’s gaze to the clouded jungle outside. The sun was falling swiftly, leaving nothing but a drop of light over the horizon. All the tranquility Evett had witnessed earlier seemed now like the eerie stillness of a lurking beast: the beast that had devoured the Old Times and swept away the greatness of a fading land.

“Well, I will trouble you no longer,” said Korabric at last. With effort he rose to his feet. “Neither will the pygmies, as long as you rest in here. Good luck in your studies. I—still have something I must do…” Still muttering to himself, he took hold of his cane and began to hobble away down the aisle.

“Wait!” called Tylix, but Korabric did not turn back. The three watched him go in silence and more than a little bewilderment. The old Buzz’s words lingered in Evett’s mind. _The flower of Neopia…_ Evett imagined a graceful blossom withering in the long shadow of evil, choked by the trampling footfalls of a hundred thousand monsters. Why did he have to be the one to see it?

Once Korabric was out of earshot, Rikti coughed uneasily. “Can we all agree this guy is off his rocker?”

Tylix was deep in thought. “There’s more to this than just senility, I think. Why don’t the pygmies come in here? Why are there so many pygmies in here to begin with? He never answered that. And how is he still alive when he’s so weak?”

“I thought strong mages could become immortal,” Evett objected. “That’s what Rikti told me.”

“ _Strong_ is the key word there,” said Tylix. “No one would ever make it to a millennium in the shape he’s in. It flies in the face of logic.” He scratched his head. “Nothing here makes any sense.”

“It must have something to do with that Rollay fellow,” said Rikti, folding his arms. “Who knows what a crazy mage like that is capable of? We’ll have to beat the answers out of him.”

“If he’s still here, you mean,” Evett interrupted with a frown.

“I’ll settle for the pygmies too.” Rikti waved a hand. “I’m here to save Neopia, you know. All this history and knowledge stuff goes over my head.”

“If not for knowledge, we wouldn’t have any songs and stories of the past at all,” said Tylix. “The Old Times were our golden age. You can’t dismiss them so easily.”

“That’s different,” Rikti insisted. “Songs are songs. They’re fun.”

Tylix gave him a testy look. “In any case, it’s getting late. We’re all tired, and I don’t think we want to look around in here by candlelight. Let’s start tomorrow morning.”

Nods all around. They set up camp right where they stood, beside the large window. After a bite of dinner and some water to clear away the lingering ash, they lay down to sleep.

Evett had thought himself exhausted, but in the darkness his thoughts ran away with him. Monsters glared out of every shadow. The faces of all those he had met in this strange world danced behind his eyelids mockingly, as if daring him to care for them. His mind turned to his home, searching for solace and cheer. He saw the marketplaces, the apartments, the wide streets lit by many lights—but suddenly the edges were hazy. And the figures walking alongside him in that world were fading, too: or maybe they had never existed to begin with. Hadn’t he always been alone?

 _The river of time washes all things away._ He felt ill. He was so close, and yet…

Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow he would find the answers, he promised himself. And slowly, slowly, with that promise locked in his heart, he dropped off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Tylix sat up. It was late at night, and Rikti and Evett were both asleep next to him. They looked peaceful for once, in stark contrast to their daytime rabble-rousing. As for Tylix himself, well, he was used to sleeping poorly.

Evett’s bag was lying quietly nearby. Tylix eyed it suspiciously. On a passing whim, he unclasped the buckle and reached inside. His paw seemed to descend into a shapeless void, touching one object after another with no regard for the rules of space. Books with smooth pages, coins of unfamiliar make, and… was that a stained glass window? Surely there was nothing in Neopia—the _current_ Neopia—capable of a trick like this.

Tylix pulled his paw out. He was sure now. This bag, Evett’s odd accent, and his interest in the esoteric magic of the Institute… there was no doubt in Tylix’s mind about the strange Lupe’s origins and goals. It didn’t explain his strange overabundance of power, but maybe that was another quirk of the future world. Tylix didn't bother speculating. Time travel alone was already hard enough to grasp.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” he said to himself, settling back down on his bedroll. “We all have our reasons to fight.”

Evett, a wanderer in search of answers. Rikti, an adventurer who wanted to save the world. Tylix found them a bit annoying, frankly, but now that he had really met them, he had to admit there was something endearing about their earnest ways. It was practically contagious. He had been honest with Evett for a bit—a brief moment of weakness—but here, alone in the shadows, there was no comfort but his own dark thoughts.

He remembered what he had told Margoreth and Denethrir, at noon on the swaying grass. _I have to see everything there is to see._ He swallowed, recalling their hopeful faces. If only they knew how selfish he really was.

Korabric had been right. The times were changing beyond repair, and soon this Neopia would meet its end. Tylix wished he was Evett, a foreigner from a distant era untouched by this age’s curse… but he’d never been so lucky. Every night he saw its fate in his mind’s eye.

As he fell asleep again, he could only wonder how much farther he had left to go.


	4. Dreams

Rikti awoke to the placid light of early morning. The sky outside was a pleasant pinkish-blue, crisscrossed by faint clouds. He took in the sight for a few sleepy moments, until the pain in his neck brought him back to reality. He was sore all over. Then again, he supposed, it was a good thing soreness was the worst of it. He _had_ been slammed into a banister, after all.

Well, so what? His strategy had paid off. They’d all made it out in one piece; he’d protected everyone just fine. If there’d been a flaw, it was that Evett and Tylix had had to rescue him. What was the point of saving Neopia if he couldn’t even defeat a few pygmies on his own? Forget Rosval the Righteous; at this rate he was better off joining Erick at the Babaa Temple.

No use dwelling on the past. Today would be better, Rikti promised himself. He sat up and looked around. Evett was still snoring on the floor, but Tylix had already gotten up. Rikti found him sitting in the aisle a few shelves down, perusing an enormous book with the aid of Evett’s shiny lantern.

“Good morning,” he said as Rikti approached.

“Hi,” Rikti answered. “How long’ve you been up anyway?”

Tylix rubbed his chin sheepishly. “…Not sure. A while.”

“Sheesh. How do you scholars even function?” Rikti sat down and peered over Tylix’s shoulder. Columns of strange symbols greeted him, so densely packed that Rikti could barely make out more than a solid block of ink.

“It’s an encyclopedia of magic spells,” Tylix explained, sensing his bafflement. “I’m making note of them, since there’s a lot in here that has been lost. Have you ever heard of mineral transfiguration? It’s in Ranris the Tall’s memoirs, but in modern times we thought that was an exaggeration. If you look here, though, the process becomes very clear—“ He coughed. “Sorry. It’s an intriguing book. Like I said yesterday, the magic of the Old Times is my passion.”

“Okay,” said Rikti doubtfully, glancing over the pages again. Despite the conversation last night, he still couldn’t make himself care about all this dusty old babble. “Oh, that’s right. Is there anything about time travel in there?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tylix answered. “You’re asking for Evett, right? So he can go back to the future.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?” Rikti gaped at him. “How did you know that?”

“It’s a bit obvious, isn’t it? His bag, his things…” Tylix patted the lantern for emphasis.

“I—I guess,” mumbled Rikti, embarrassed. In hindsight, Evett hadn’t done much to keep the whole thing secret. Then he perked up. “Hey, aren’t you curious or anything? Evett’s tight-lipped, but he’s still told me a bit. Flying ships, underwater kingdoms…” He sighed. “It’s amazing to think Neopia will be like that one day.”

“I don’t really care. It’s the past that I’m interested in, after all. The future is what it is. We have nothing to do with that world.”

“Way to be a downer,” Rikti complained.

“That’s just reality,” said Tylix briskly, resuming his scan of the book. “All we can do is live in it.”

Rikti curled his lip. Something in the Kacheek’s manner reminded him unpleasantly of his brother. Didn’t these types ever bother to dream? “Well, say whatever you like, but _I_ think our Neopia can change for the better. The Old Times were great and all, but we can live up to them. We even stopped Xantan in his dirty tracks.”

Tylix waved his paw with disdain, but then froze mid-wave. “What was that? Did you say Xantan?”

“Oh right, we didn’t tell you about that either…”

“Well, don’t stop now!” Tylix bellowed, suddenly resembling a miniature Denethrir. “Go on! This is _essential_! Who, what, when, where—“

* * *

Evett woke up feeling refreshed. Sleep and food had done wonders on him, though at the cost of keeping him down till late morning. He finished his breakfast (omelettes again, naturally) and made his way to his companions, who were already buried deep in research.

“Glad you finally decided to join us,” Rikti commented, his mop of curly hair barely visible above a pile of books. “I had to narrate our entire Xantan fight on my own.”

“Uh…?”

“Quite the tale!” Tylix chimed in, looking up from the massive cobwebbed tome he was holding. “Even more exciting than this compendium of conductive metals, and that’s a real feat.”

Evett frowned. He couldn’t say his memories of the event were nearly as positive. “I’m… glad you liked it?”

Rikti patted the spot next to him. “Anyway, you wanted time travel stuff, right? Tylix picked out some books that might help. No worries, they’re all readable. Oh, and he knows you’re from the future.”

“…Uh. Right. Got it.” Despite only having gotten up ten minutes ago, Evett was feeling quite tempted to reverse that particular decision. But the promise of information at long last was more enticing than another bout of sleep.

“Time to get started,” he muttered, lifting the first book off the pile. _Magics of Time; that is, a Study of History, Futures, and Other Such Pursuits_ , _as Compiled by Parwenna III,_ it read. It was almost a thousand pages long, and at least that many years old. Evett feared it would crumble to dust in his paws. Or his brain would, whichever came first.

Three hours passed, along with Parwenna III and several more like her. The trio was settling into their work. Tylix was making methodical notes, sometimes getting up to search other aisles; Rikti flipped through random folktales and what could only be described as ancient jokebooks; but Evett stayed where he was, swimming in the arcane words of a distant past.

The various books, it turned out, disagreed on nearly everything when it came to time travel. Even during the Old Times, it had been regarded as something approaching legend. A few facts were constant, however. One: The energy required was orders of magnitude beyond the average mage. Two: It was a forbidden art—the catalyst of dissonance. What that meant, Evett had no idea.

_This dissonance is the downfall of a mage. To disturb the river of time is to sin against the World that protecteth us. A small sin shall be forgiven; a great sin shall be punished._

Tylix scanned the passage with bewildered interest. “The capital-W World, huh,” he murmured. “I mentioned it two days ago when I was telling you about magic, if you remember. Many other texts talk about it. It’s supposed to be the magical energy of the land itself. A limitless force that keeps the order of time and space… that’s how the theory goes, anyway. I’m not sure if I believe it.”

“So that’s what sent me here?” said Evett, puzzled. He wondered why something so big had taken an interest in him. “But what was the sin? This sort of thing couldn’t just happen by accident.”

“I think so too,” said Rikti. “If time travel is as big as you’re saying it is, someone had to have triggered it. It’s a forbidden art, right? Think about all the evil that lurks around Neopia. The sin was probably a summoning—by Jahbal.”

The room sobered in an instant. Tylix looked up, his face grim. “Is that what this is about? The reason you came here?”

“…Well, it’s just a hunch,” Rikti hastened to add, in a voice that clearly suggested he’d spilled more than he should have. “Eleus Batrin thinks so, at least.”

But Tylix’s only reaction was a sigh. “Eleus too? He’s not the first, unfortunately. I live in Sunnytown down south. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but there are dark rumors coming out of the First Forest. The Two Rings are that way, you know.”

“Two Rings?” Evett repeated. The name was more than a little ominous.

“The mountains where Jahbal’s palace used to be, years and years ago,” Rikti explained tightly. “Not a good sign. So you think he’s back too, then?”

“Maybe,” said Tylix vaguely. “With all the monsters in this day and age, it’s very possible. But even if he is, I’m not sure how time travel figures into it. The energy required…”

“He can absorb energy,” Rikti cut in. “We think we saw him do it to Xantan. What if he’s been gathering magic for a really crazy time-travel spell? He could’ve used Evett as a trial run or something.”

Evett shivered. “But what about Rollay Scaleback? What does _he_ have to do with all this? With… Jahbal, and the World, and everything?”

“No idea. He might not even be around anymore, for all we know,” said Rikti. “But I’ll bet twenty coppers it’s all got something to do with why you’re here.”

The thought of being a pawn in these faceless villains’ schemes was disquieting. “Well, I want out,” Evett said. “Isn’t there anything in here that can tell me how to get back home?”

“If what you say is true, no book is going to help,” Tylix responded tersely. “Nothing like this has ever happened in Neopia. Unfortunately, I think you’ll have to look somewhere else. Or find some more very old mages to talk to.” He paused. “Speaking of which, where’s Korabric? I need help deciphering this Kayannin text.”

“Haven’t seen him,” said Rikti. He craned his neck and shouted into the air. “Helloooo? Lord Korabric?”

No answer. Rikti’s voice echoed hollowly off the walls. The three looked at each other, all feeling the same fear. “Split up and search,” Rikti ordered.

Evett headed for the northern wing of the library. The shelves here were tall, blocking most of the light from the windows. Row upon row of books and scrolls, immaculately kept, towered up to the ceiling. In the corner, half-hidden by shadow, was a stately door marked _Head Office_. Evett knocked, waited, then pushed it open cautiously.

The tiny room was windowless; the air, clammy and foul. Potted plants sprouted every which way, their long stems trailing over the ground and up the walls. They looked like ordinary vines, but as Evett looked closer he saw reddish thorns covering them like angry welts. Beakers and shards of glass littered the ground, along with a sticky puddle of some dark blue liquid.

The desk was buried in stacks of parchment, and so too were the walls. Furious scrawlings had been left on every inch of surface. A dried-out inkpot lay tipped over in the corner, its quill still lying desolately in the black pool. Had Korabric spent a thousand years on this? Why bother, when it would all be forgotten?

Evett picked up the scrap of parchment resting nearest to him. Pieces of it crumbled away in his grasp. The words were difficult to make out, having been apparently written in a desperate rush.

_It has been a century. Perhaps two. The days pass and I cannot recall them. But I must continue my work here. Yes, the antidote. I must stop Rollay soon. If only things could be as they were———_

Evett felt something brush his hind paws. He looked down to find that one of the plants was half-coiled around his ankle. Had it—had it always been there? A chill went up his spine. Quietly he set down the parchment, shook himself out of the vine’s grasp, and shut the door.

He met Rikti and Tylix back by the windows. No one had seen Korabric, and the eerie office was seemingly the only clue to his whereabouts. “I think he’s cracked,” Evett said bluntly. “Either the pygmies got him or he left the library on his own.”

“He could be in trouble,” said Rikti. “We’d better go after him!”

“Hold on,” Tylix countered. “You don’t even know where he went. And what about the things Evett found in his study? There’s a lot more research to be done.”

“Haven’t we done enough reading? It’s been hours! We can come back later, you know.”

“I can’t waste any time,” Tylix continued stubbornly. “This place is a scholar’s paradise. So many precious things that we might never see again… There’s no point in me risking myself when I need to find out as much as I can.”

“For _what?_ ” Rikti exclaimed. “There’s someone out there in danger and you’re going to read a musty book? Don’t you have a heart?”

“I—“ Tylix stared at him blankly, his face frozen in some kind of shock. Evett winced. Even Rikti seemed taken aback, though not enough to swallow his pride.

Finally Tylix looked down, his face red. “What did you expect? Not all of us are warriors. What I’ve come here for is more important than anything else.”

“ _Anything_ else?” Rikti looked like he was dying to press the matter further, but after a beat he sighed and turned around. “Fine. We’ll find Korabric on our own. Let’s go, Evett.”

Evett hesitated. At the last second, as he headed for the door, he turned back to Tylix. “Hang on to the slingshot, okay? The pygmies might come in here. You never know.”

Tylix didn’t answer. The last thing Evett saw before he rounded the corner was the young Kacheek’s back, draped in shadow, hunched unmovingly over his books like a statue of some bygone age.

* * *

“Well, here’s the courtyard,” said Rikti quietly.

They gazed down over the balcony. The ground was a blackened mess. Twisted fragments of metal and charred wood, the last remains of the grand old spiral staircase, lay amid the ash. An acrid scent haunted the air.

Rikti grimaced. “It wouldn’t have gone this way if I’d been stronger.”

“We did what we had to,” said Evett. “Nothing you can do about it now.”

“Huh. Some savior of Neopia I am.” There was a long pause before Rikti spoke again. “I bet Tylix hates me right now.”

They were standing right where Evett and Tylix had been yesterday, right where Tylix had shot his ice crystal. _Sorry, by the way…_ That look of unutterable sadness. _…For making you think I’m a good kid._

“I don’t think he hates you,” Evett said finally.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Rikti turned away from the railing. “Let’s get going. Where do you think Korabric went? Probably up, right?”

Evett hesitated before nodding. “Probably. We’ve seen the map—there’s not much downstairs.”

“Great, that makes it easy. I bet the pygmies have a big hideout up there too.” Rikti gripped his sword-hilt. “Today I’ll be the one to fight back.”

They left the atrium and explored the rest of the seventh floor. Aside from the library, it housed a few large lecture halls. All of them were in shambles, the old seats rotting away and gouged by spear-marks. It seemed the pygmies had been here recently.

There was another staircase, made of plain stone, at the back of the tower; it went from the seventh floor all the way to the top. As Rikti and Evett were going up, they heard a distant chattering echo above them.

“That’s them, isn’t it,” said Evett in a low voice.

“Yep,” Rikti answered grimly. “The sound’s coming from the eighth floor, I think. There’s got to be a whole crowd of them.”

The eighth floor, as it turned out, took Tower Gaia’s grandiosity to a new level. The walls were lined with relief sculptures that, though distressed by time, had evidently been preserved by caring hands. Rays of sunlight filtering through holes in the ceiling made them almost seem to shine.

Evett paused briefly to look at one of them. It was a floor-to-ceiling stone carving of a valley surrounding a lake. Forested hills rose up in the background, overlooking the water. Behind them was a craggy mountain range. The waves, the cliffs, and even the leaves on the trees had been fashioned in impeccable detail. At the center of the relief, standing atop an island on the lake, was a city illuminated by the sun. With its soaring turrets and sloping walls, not even the aged and chipped stonework could hide its beauty.

Evett turned his gaze to the inscription at the bottom. Most of it had faded away, but the title was legible: _Kal Panning_ , it read. Was this Neopia City in some forgotten time? Or another place entirely? It looked familiar somehow. Evett was mesmerized.

“Done yet?” said Rikti dryly. He was steadfastly staring away from the relief, as if the very sight of it was a curse. “It’s the Ghost City, if you’re wondering. The old capital down south. I guess it used to look pretty nice. But all this stuff did, once upon a time.”

Evett opened his mouth to ask a question. Something was itching in the back of his mind. But then, far up ahead, they heard the chattering sounds again. Evett whipped around. At the end of the corridor, nearly out of sight, was a small band of pygmies—seven or eight, heavily armored. They were guarding a large set of doors. Rikti was already charging towards them, his sword winking in the sunlight.

“Hey!” Evett cried, racing down the hallway, but the fight had already begun in earnest. The exchange of blades, like streaks of light in the air, was too quick to follow. Halfway to the doors, struggling to make out what was going on, Evett realized to his shock that he was too late. Rikti had already won.

The sight was beyond belief. “Wow,” Evett managed to say, after stepping over the prone forms of the pygmies. “You, uh. Really did a number on them.”

Rikti grinned, flicking a bead of sweat out of his hair. “Not bad, huh? They caught me off-guard yesterday, but now I’ve got their moves all figured out.”

But Evett caught sight of the look in his eyes. “Come on, don’t push yourself that hard,” he said. “What’s with you today?”

“Don’t you get it?” Rikti’s smile faded. “Never mind. We’ve got a lot more to deal with.”

He jerked his thumb at the doors behind him. Made of polished wood and decorated with the image of a tree, they were oddly reminiscent of the doors to the library. They were slightly ajar, and dreadful screeches echoed from within. Lying nearby, seemingly discarded, was a familiar cane.

“This is Korabric’s,” Evett realized with a dawning sense of horror. “So the pygmies really did get him…”

Rikti scowled, his mood darkening further. “Of course they did. Monsters are monsters. But you know what? That ends here.” He grabbed the door handle and began to pull.

“Hold on!” Evett hissed, panicked. “There’s too many of them. Don’t you have a plan?“

“Sure I do. We’re going to beat them all.” And with that, Rikti flung the doors wide open.

* * *

Tylix looked up from his reading. A muffled sword fight was happening somewhere above his head. Another pointless battle in a world full of them.

“Whatever happens will happen,” he said aloud. But the words fell on empty air.

* * *

The room behind the double doors was a laboratory.

Evett would have described it that way from his own experience, but there was no way a place like this could exist in such an ancient tower. It wasn’t possible. These polished surfaces—these vials lining the walls—these rows and rows of caged Meepits—

“What…” said Rikti in a low voice, barely audible over the wordless cries. “What is this?”

The room was a cavernous space even larger than the old courtyard. A large westward-facing window filled the room with bright light. Nondescript doors popped up on every side. The cages were arranged along the left wall, floor to ceiling; cabinets, tools, and colorful glass tubes covered the right. It was a laboratory both painstakingly clean and horrifically chaotic.

“These pygmies…” Evett said, staring at the cages. “They’re not monsters. They’re just ordinary Petpets.”

Wide eyes peering out from the darkness. Matted pink fur pressing against the bars. There were at least twenty of them. Evett had to look away, nauseated by the smell. The chittering that had been so ghastly before sounded more like a plea for help now. Evett felt a pit of horror open up in his stomach. Something here was terribly wrong.

Rikti took a step backward, dumbfounded. “I don’t get it. Where’s Korabric? Why would Rollay do this?”

“Why, indeed?” Suddenly one of the side doors swung open. A smiling creature stepped into the room. It was not a Neopet. The yellow-scaled, red-eyed thing before them was—a beast with a mind.

“You foolish warriors truly astound me,” Rollay went on. “I admit I wasn’t expecting you to wander here quite so quickly and mindlessly.”

Evett shifted nervously. The pit in him was growing. “That voice…”

It was a rasping creak that trembled with great age. Although the reedy whisper was one of delight and not of wretched despair, there was no mistaking it. It was… Korabric’s voice.

“What?” gasped Rikti. His drawn sword trembled visibly. “Hey, what’s going on here? Tell us!”

Rollay chuckled. “You must seek the answers you desire, as all good scholars do. What _I_ wish to know is how you fare against these subjects of mine. I meant to save them up, but an excellent experiment like this deserves my full attention. It has been so long… so long… since true-hearted Neopians last graced this hall with their presence.”

His long arm snaked toward the nearest cage. The Meepit inside whimpered and shied away from the scaly fingers’ touch. “Cherish this sight. You are the first to see it in many a year. The greatest talent a mage can possess… the talent of life.”

Rikti, realizing what was happening, dashed forward. But he was too late. A wind whipped up from the ground, blowing him back. Rollay’s hand was shining with green tendrils of energy. They raced over the rows of cages like sparks on a lightning rod. The Petpets shrieked and pounded on the bars, helpless to escape. Magic coated them. Magic sank into their bones. It lit the room with a sickly glow, drowning even the sunlight bursting through the window.

When it stopped, Evett was blinded for a moment. He heard the low growls and the cages popping open before he saw them. The twenty Meepits were hunched on the ground, baring their teeth. Spittle ran from their mouths. Their bloodshot eyes were purple. One of them had grown larger than the rest; it was misshapen, with a wild, beady gaze. All of them were fixed on Evett and Rikti. Evett was frozen to the ground. Rikti’s face was contorted with silent rage. Was this—the Corruption that Korabric had spoken of?

Rollay retrieved a bundle of spears from a cabinet on the wall and tossed them on the ground. “Usually I would armor them as well. But as you see, I’m in a bit of a rush. Now… give me a good fight, will you? For the sake of knowledge. This is a school, after all.”

“Wait!” shouted Rikti. Rollay did not wait. With a wheezing cackle, eerily like the old scholar in the library, he retreated through the door from which he had entered. Even before it had shut, the Meepits—no, now they truly were pygmies—had begun to swarm over the pile of weapons. Now they faced the two adventurers head-on. The cacophony was petrifying. Evett took an involuntary step back, though he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. One look at Rikti’s fierce expression made that painfully clear.

“Monsters are monsters,” the little Korbat said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry about this, but I have to win.” As always, there wasn’t a moment of hesitation. He leaped into the air, buoyed by his tiny wings, and dove straight down into the seething mass.

At once the fighting began, harder and harsher than anything Evett had witnessed before. It was all he could do to keep his staff in his grasp, much less blast it at will. And these pygmies were not easily cowed by fire. They set upon him from every direction, thrusting their spears through the air. Evett was caught unprepared. They were enemies—he _knew_ they were no different from all the monsters he’d fought before—but the roiling nausea in his gut chilled his limbs. Slowly he was overwhelmed and crushed to the ground. He could hardly see, and with all the noise he felt like he was going deaf. Dimly he remembered his first grueling battle against the pygmies, down in the corridor on the ground floor. Except there had only been three pygmies to deal with back then. Only three. Sure, they had been armored and battle-hardened, but… Evett almost wanted to laugh.

But even as he reeled, he felt the old spark of resistance rising in him. He wanted to live. He wanted to live. He wanted to live, and escape this crumbling tower, and free himself from all this suffering. In the pygmies’ looming shadows he glimpsed an echo of Xantan’s repulsive face, and the thought of giving in to it made him even more enraged. He _had_ to fight back. But it seemed there was nowhere to go. Even the ceiling seemed far out of reach. He was sinking, slowly but surely, into the rising tide—

Shining steel cleaved the air. A half-dozen pygmies dived to the side. “Move, furballs!” yelled Rikti. “Give him some _space_ , why don’t you!”

Evett raised himself shakily. “Thanks—“ he called out. But Rikti was already leaping back into the fray without so much as a backward glance. Blood was trickling from a cut in his forehead, and half his tunic was hanging off him. Even at a distance Evett could hear the sound of his friend’s labored breathing.

“You’re safe, right?” Rikti shouted. “Get some rest! Let me take care of this!”

Now Evett could see exactly what Rikti had been up to. Six pygmies lay on the floor unconscious. Five more were attacking Rikti, and as Evett watched in horror the largest one joined in. Rikti was somehow managing to fend them off, spinning this way and that with his sword in one hand and a nicked pygmy spear in the other. His refined skill had dissipated. The young Korbat was swinging and slashing blindly, propelling himself with sheer momentum. He looked almost crazed.

“That idiot!” Evett muttered. “As if I’d just sit back and watch!” He stepped back to give himself more range and then let off a blast. It was stronger than even he had expected—a vengeful, ravenous bolt of flame. He could feel power coursing through him and away, filling the room. The sensation was at once thrilling and terrifying.

Three of the smaller pygmies were sent flying backwards, hitting the cages with a loud clang. Screeches resounded. The rest of the attacking pygmies were caught between two opponents now, and their uncertainty showed. Against his own better judgment, Evett grasped that split second of hesitation and rushed back into the fight.

The combat was just as heavy as before, but now the pygmies were confused and scattered. Evett had an easier time keeping them at arm’s length. He swung at them over and over, shattering cabinets and vials with his staff and fists. The question was how long he could keep it up. Already his uncontrollable magic was draining out of him;he didn’t have the endurance to continue a battle like this forever. The same went for Rikti, no matter how tough he acted. He was barely holding his ground against the large pygmy. There wasn’t much time left.

Strangely colored gases, residue from all the broken bottles and tubes, clouded the air. It took Evett a moment to realize that Rikti was nearly back to back with him. “Hey!” Evett yelled over his shoulder. “What now? We’re just stalling!”

“Don’t worry!” said Rikti between breaths. “I’ll take care of it. You’ll see!”

“What are you talking about?” Evett would have shaken him if he could. “Even if we win here, Rollay’s right behind that door! What’s the big idea, genius?”

There was no response for a moment. Evett turned fully, his heart beating fast. He squinted through the vapor and finally spotted Rikti in a half-crouch, blocking a blow from the pygmy’s spear with just the flat of his blade. With a pained grunt, Rikti put his whole weight into his arm and shoved the surprised pygmy off-balance. Its spear dropped uselessly to the ground.

Rikti glanced back for a split second at Evett, who was staring in shock. “You can leave if you want,” he replied, before turning back to his opponent. “It’s okay. This isn’t your fight.”

Evett‘s first instinct was to agree. But looking at Rikti’s strength, he wanted nothing more than to match it. To mirror it. He couldn’t turn away, even as the tides of battle swept them apart again. Shaking his head, Evett focused on the pygmies before him with renewed gusto. At the very least, he could clear Rikti a path.

Evett inhaled and touched the depths of his magic. His energy flowed freely from the wellspring inside him to the orb sitting at the tip of the staff, and even the smallest motion coaxed it into ignition. Fire spewed forth. Every new tongue of flame seemed to burn brighter than the one before it and hit twice as hard. A spear arced towards him from one side, only to be scorched to nothing in the next second; and he scorched those spears again and again and again. He was alive with energy. Deep inside, he asked himself what was happening to him.

Slowly but surely, the pygmies’ numbers were thinning. Many of them had crawled into a corner, or were lying on their backs helplessly. It was clear that they were relying on the large one for guidance. But even that great pygmy was beginning to flag. He’d picked up a bent spear and was still dueling Rikti to a standstill—yet Rikti, half-hobbling and badly injured, refused to go down. It was a contest of brute force.

Then Rikti stumbled. Only for a second, but the opening was enough. The large pygmy hurtled forward and shoved him hard to the ground. Rikti let out something between a yelp and a cough. His sword spun away out of reach. Above him, the pygmy was raising its fist, ready to drive it down for an inevitable triumph. Evett started forward desperately. But then—

“Got you!” Rikti yelled. He blocked the blow with the flat of his blade. Surprised, the pygmy staggered. Rikti raised his legs and, with a shout, drove them into the pygmy’s chest.

The pygmy stood motionless for a second, hunched over in an exquisite mockery of some ancient monument. Then a horrible shriek resounded through the air, and the creature fell forward insensibly, toppling over Rikti’s head. It lay motionless in a daze. Rikti had won.

A great tumult rose up. Smoke and fumes billowed ceaselessly. The pygmies, those who were still conscious, babbled in terror. Evett swung his staff at random, scattering them away. A few crawled back into their cages. The room echoed with the clang of spears hitting the ground. Perhaps it was because the Meepits had only just been ‘corrupted’—the cruel instincts of their kind had not yet manifested. Everywhere Evett looked, he saw finality.

“It’s not over,” said Rikti, staggering to his feet. He pointed his sword at the door in the corner. It was half-open, and Rollay’s shadow spilled through it. He had been watching all along, of course, and noting down the results of his twisted experiment. Evett inhaled sharply, just as Rollay turned and disappeared through the doorway. Rikti immediately started after him.

“No! Quit it already!” Evett said. “Let’s run—let’s get Tylix and find a way out of here. Come on!”

“It’s not over yet,” Rikti repeated fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous or a trap or whatever. Did you forget about Korabric? We have to save him!”

He stumbled forward. There was no choice for Evett but to follow him—follow him, and see this misery through to the end.

The door concealed a narrow, musty stairwell that climbed steeply upward. There was only one possible destination, of course. When Evett and Rikti arrived at the top, they found themselves in a glass garden: the beautiful dome they had seen an eternity ago, on the grass outside Tower Gaia.

Two dozen trees stood in a circle, their branches long and bowed in the afternoon light. Shrubs and flowers grew in elegant harmony. Light refracted off the glass panes and speckled the moss-carpeted floor. Clinging to the dome were vines with red thorns, long and graceful. And at the center, waiting patiently, was Rollay.

“I must say I’m impressed,” he remarked. “I don’t know you, nor your connection to _him_. But I like your grit.”

“We passed your stupid test,” snapped Rikti, trying to keep his sword hand steady. “You owe us an explanation. What did you do to Korabric?”

“Korabric?” Rollay laughed again. Behind him, the vines shifted slightly, uneasily. “Nothing. What could I have done? I am he, after all. There is no one I cherish more.”

His croaking voice rattled in the back of his throat. In the quiet of this sanctuary, the noise was distinctly unsettling. Evett could hardly breathe, much less speak, through the fear erupting in his mind.

“Though we have our own memories and lives, we are one being,” Rollay went on. “ _He_ has chosen to forget me and hide away, the old nitwit. But I will not turn from our wish. What do you think I have toiled all these centuries for?”

“You… you….” Rikti’s hand was surely trembling now. His rage was boiling over.

“Do you really want to know, little heroes?” Rollay gazed at them as if they were two particularly troublesome specks of dust. Slowly he walked towards them. The vines trailed behind, like a hideous cloak. “It is a story none now know, save the accursed lord of the Two Rings.” He spat derisively. On the ground, Evett noticed the remnants of an etched circle. A… magic circle? But it was crisscrossed by deep scratches. The faint lines were broken and scattered beyond repair.

“Long ago, there was a scholar who studied botany. He loved learning, and soon he was famous throughout the land. But his talent was weak. He wanted more power, more knowledge. He wanted to transcend history.”

An arm of ivy shot out like lightning. Evett shoved himself and Rikti out of the way just in time. He hacked away at the twitching vine, but Rollay raised his hand and twenty more rose to replace it.

“So, aided by the mighty Circle of Twelve, the scholar began to experiment with life spells,” he continued calmly. “Stronger plants. Stronger Petpets. Stronger Neopets. Some called them monsters, or Corrupted, but he knew better. He was giddy at his success. He wanted to make himself strong, too.”

Evett and Rikti ran through the twisting garden, desperately dodging Rollay’s attacks. Everything, from the flowers to the trees, reached out to entangle them. Anything other than a desperate defense was impossible.

“He cast the spell on himself, and all at once a new side of him emerged. Strong, cunning, magical. Someone who could build great works with his own hands, for all eternity.”

Creaking tree branches rose and blocked out the sky. The dome was shrouded in gloom. A whirlwind of magical energy filled the air almost palpably. Evett and Rikti ran around and around, too afraid to look behind them.

“It was then that Jahbal began his rebellion. He seized the poor scholar’s creations for himself and lay new curses on them. They were bound to seek Neopets’ magical energy and bring it to him, enriching his wicked heart. Even after he was vanquished, they continued their wandering—separated forever from their true master!”

The garden was a maelstrom now. Evett and Rikti were separated in the chaos, still running blindly. “Where are you?” Evett cried. Rikti was shouting something he couldn’t hear.

“The scholar was furious. He destroyed every one of Jahbal’s prying circles and hid himself away, vowing to continue his work. But—a part of him felt _guilty_. He thought he’d been used, that he was blameless. And so he tried to return to his old self…” Rollay let out another laugh, the unhinged guffaw of an ancient fiend. “What a buffoon. Did he think he could turn back time? All he did in the end was impede me.”

Evett set fire to vines, trees, everything he could see. The inferno raged, but the greenery here was of a power far above anything he could hope to match. The air was dry and bitter with the scent of burning wood.

“So the good scholar went on dreaming, just as he always had. And his other self went on questing for wisdom, just as _he_ always had. Doing what the scholar had always wanted. What he was too weak to do!”

Rollay snarled, his red eyes flaring. At his order, the thorns of the vines exploded outward into scarlet limbs that shot towards Evett and Rikti. There were many—too many of them even to dodge. Evett raised his staff, knowing it would be futile.

“Are you satisfied now, little ones? Do you understand? I have been working to continue my great project. My era is gone; everything in it will pass away with time. Who knows what will happen to my beloved beasts, if I am not there to nurture them? All I want—all _we_ want—is knowledge. Knowledge, discoveries, fame that will shake the earth to its core! What do shadowy tyrants and half-baked heroes have to say to that? There is no greater pride—no purer wish!”

The red vines wrapped around them and lifted them high into the air. If Evett had raised his paw, he would have touched the very top of the dome. But his arms were leaden, and his vision flickered. Next to him, Rikti’s head was bowed.

“I respect Korabric, absurd though he is. But you! You, who haven’t seen even twenty winters, think yourself bold enough to face me? I am a wish given form!” The vines tightened. “Well, no matter. You have entertained me long enough. This is the end. You will—”

“Enough!” shouted Rikti.

Rollay looked up with a sneer. “Pardon?”

“I said _enough_! I’m tired of your raving! Come up here and fight me, if you think you can!” Rikti’s voice was raw, but he was screaming louder than ever. “I’ve got pride greater than you’ll ever know! I’m going to save the world! So try me!”

“…I see.” The vines holding Rikti shifted. Then, all at once, they whirled around and slammed him to the ground. Again and again they pounded into him. Clouds of dirt and dust rose, and Evett’s eyes stung.

“How resilient you are,” said Rollay tauntingly to the heap of earth. From his hand came a telltale green glow. “I’ve changed my mind. It has been many years since I Corrupted a Neopet… it takes a great deal out of me. But for a specimen like yourself, it’s worth it. What do you think? You’ll have all the strength you desire…”

Rikti raised his head from the dirt painfully. Somehow his sword was still in his hand, and he pointed it straight at Rollay. “Never.”

But he was shaking all over, and from a distance Evett could sense his terror. Rikti was coming to his senses now, and he knew he had landed himself in something beyond his understanding. And yet still he would not bow.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Evett yelled from up above, though no one could hear. He didn’t even know who he was yelling at. Rollay walked gleefully toward Rikti. He was taking his time, savoring his opponent’s defeat. Rikti struggled to his feet, still hefting his sword, but he was no match. Fear seized Evett. Would Rikti become a monster? Like the withered Korbats haunting Xantan’s cave, doomed to roam in some mage’s service forever? His heart beat at a desperate pace. That was the one fate he could never allow.

Uselessly he sent a ball of fire out of his staff. One of the vines around him withered, but the fire skidded uselessly off the rest and dissipated into thin air. What was he doing? This wasn’t going to help. He needed more magic. He reached inside himself again, down to the deepest dregs. If he really was as powerful as everyone said—he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t turn back, not now.

Inhale. Exhale. The orb sparked, and heat coursed through Evett’s body. Then, all of a sudden, three tongues of flame gushed out from the staff. Like a waterfall they flowed downwards, winding around and around the bloated vines in a dizzying display. With a start, they burst into flame. _Crack._ They crumbled, one by one.

“You! Who—what _are_ you?!” Rollay whipped around, shouting out in pain. “You’re no ordinary—”

The sound of a thousand vines cracking to pieces interrupted him. Evett fell to the ground, and the flaming wreckage of the vines crashed down behind him.

Rikti stared with wide eyes. “Evett…?”

“You’re not alone,” said Evett, his words slurred by exhaustion. He had well and truly depleted himself now. “ I’m… I’m here too. What happened to… traveling the world with your friends?”

“Are you crazy?! You can’t—“ Rikti gulped down a pained breath. “I did this. It’s my quest. I’m the only one who should see it to the end—”

Rollay’s fists were clenched with wrath. “How dare you? First my precious Meepits, now my beloved flora? Corruption is too good for you, you _wretches_!” He strode toward them, followed by the creaking mass of every living green thing in his glass garden. It rose overhead in a nightmarish formation and snaked over the floor. The sunlight disappeared, replaced by blackness. Evett pulled Rikti to his feet and tried to hobble away. He knew they would not get far.

“I will be eternal,” he said. “I will live on, and be Neopia’s greatest mind. I will take my Corrupted. I will fulfill the dream that we have always cherished. I will _—_ ”

“—be caught off guard, it looks like.” A crystal of sparkling ice, spinning out of the dark, hit Rollay square in the chest. He lurched with a gasp and turned wildly, looking for the source of the sound. But he had grown his garden too far beyond its limits. He was as blind as his own enemies in the darkness. More ice crystals sailed through the air, pelting his scaly hide.

“Who’s there? Who?!” Reluctantly, Rollay pulled the vines back. Sunlight streamed back into the garden. Evett and Rikti could move freely.

“Now!” said a voice. “Come on, go!”

Rikti gasped. Without thinking, Evett stumbled to his feet and charged headfirst. A few straggling branches snaked towards him, but inches from his face they were cut down by a gleaming sword. Rikti was right behind him, limping but upright.

“Okay, let’s end this,” he said.

Rollay took one step back, then another. His vines turned and twisted in the air. Evett jumped forward and raised his staff like a club; Rikti dived down from the air. Ice flew from every direction. Even so, Rollay was more than quick enough to dodge their weak attacks. He would have evaded them easily—but then he froze in place.

“What—you—“ rasped Rollay, struggling against some invisible force. “How dare you—now—of all times…”

The grotesque face blurred. The slitted red eyes turned wildly in their sockets. Another voice spoke from Rollay’s mouth. It repeated a weary mantra, full of pain and unutterable fatigue.

“Hurry… hurry…”

Evett and Rikti wasted no time. In that bare, miraculous second, they struck Rollay down.

The breath was driven out of him, and he crumpled to the ground. Blood spattered the floor, mixed purple and red. All the vines and branches shuddered. There he lay on the floor in the center of the garden, where Jahbal’s magic circle had been. Evett and Rikti watched warily. Then someone else stepped into the picture—a certain yellow Kacheek, holding the slingshot in one hand and a rag stained blue in the other.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Tylix, as if he’d stepped out for a stroll.

Rollay stirred feebly, clawing at nothing. His time was running short. Tylix bent down over him and pressed the rag to his nose.

“What’re you doing?” said Rikti.

“Just watch. If my hypothesis is right…”

The creature took in a jagged breath. “No—no…” he rasped. Then his contorted face calmed. The monstrous scales began to recede back into the natural shape of an old, old Buzz.

Evett stared openmouthed. “Tylix, how did you…”

“I went back and dug through the notes in his office,” Tylix explained lightly. “It turned out the ‘antidote’ he was working on was a cure for Corruption. I collected a sample from the puddle on the floor, and here we are.”

Rollay—no, Korabric—opened his eyes, startling them. “Ah… I never did get it to work. I kept forgetting what I wanted… losing myself in old thoughts. Even now it is all but useless. Its effects will vanish in a few minutes. Though in my case, that doesn’t matter.”

The trio looked at him, uncertain what to say. The Buzz’s filmy gaze was fixed upwards at the sky. His garden was reasserting its normal shape. Even with half of it cut down or burned, the scene had an odd peacefulness to it.

“I suppose I should thank you three,” said Korabric at last. “I never was able to resist him, after my first failure a thousand years ago. Without you, another thousand might have gone by. I lived my life at his pleasure. All of it, all of it, until these last moments.

“I’ve finally remembered. My crimes, my hubris… they’ve returned to me. It was silly to think I could run from them, wasting away in here as if nothing had happened. And even then I still toiled in my search for knowledge. I knew no other life. Rollay was right… what a fool I am.”

“What is knowledge worth?” Evett muttered, remembering the question Korabric had posed the night before, sitting by the window. He had no answer to it. But Tylix raised his head.

“Everything,” he said—not in a comforting voice, but matter-of-factly. “Time passes away, but knowledge is how we remember it. Your only mistake, sir, was striving to surpass that.”

“Even Faleinn the Sage herself might not have been so dour… but perhaps you are right,” said Korabric. He laughed, and then coughed feebly. “—I’m sorry. I don’t have time to be conversing like this.“

Rikti tried to shush him, but the old Buzz waved him off. “Listen. No more Corrupted will be created now, but there are still thousands that roam the land. You must succeed where I failed. You must—“ he sighed, as if dreading his own words “—put an end to my work.”

Rikti nodded. “Of course. We’re going to bring this land a better future.”

“Good. I wish… I could see it. I wasted all these years, and I’m still running out of time.” Korabric laughed weakly. “There is a magic circle in the basement. Not Jahbal’s, but mine. It will take you to the Wide Plains. Find Aelon there… Aelon, my old friend. He resisted the shadow even after I fell into it. He will help you against the monsters—against their master in the Two Rings…”

Evett narrowed his eyes. “So then Jahbal really is alive.”

“Yes. He still lives, though confined to his palace. Through his monsters he gathers energy and learns the whereabouts of his ancient enemies. I—Rollay and I—hid here from him long ago. He never cared much for us once we had served our purpose, but we could never be too sure.” Korabric glared at the destroyed fragments of the circle beneath him. “He has surely grown strong now. Mark my words: he seeks to rule Neopia once more.”

The three younger Neopets sat back, numb. So it was true. They were up against the sorcerer that even Xantan and Rollay had feared. He was the greatest of all mages: the tyrant of the ancient world, and the architect of its downfall. If he still walked the earth or surveyed it from some tower deep in the Two Rings, what hope did they have?

But Korabric was smiling faintly. “There is a chance. A chance to save Neopia…to make something of it once more.”

His voice sounded far away. He was still looking up above him. Evett was reminded again of the scene in the library from the night before. It had been gloomy dusk then. Now the sun was brilliant, the sky blue, and the world full of endless possibility.

“Ah… Rollay was wrong after all,” he said. “I finally realize now. What my dream was.” The cloudy gaze dimmed. “All I ever wanted was to make something as beautiful as this.”

The garden was silent. Every leaf and branch stood in motionless repose. The trio stared at the floor, deep in thought. Rikti felt hope bloom in his heart; Tylix saw darkness on the horizon; and Evett could think only of the merciless flow of time.

Finally they rose to their feet. Down the stairs they went, supporting each other shoulder to shoulder, back to the tower in all its fallen glory. The door swung shut behind them without a sound. Korabric and his glass garden disappeared from sight, slipping away into history.

* * *

Back in the laboratory, the pygmies were gone or hiding away. Tylix picked through the wreckage of the cabinets. “It’s a shame there’s no better antidote,” he commented. “That would be really useful.”

“I wish we didn’t have to fight,” murmured Evett, his head spinning from weariness. “All these monsters, they’re just ordinary Neopets and Petpets. They didn’t choose to serve Rollay and Jahbal. They’re lost…”

Rikti shrugged and looked away. He was leaning heavily on one leg, and Evett had to wonder how the poor kid was even conscious. “It is what it is,” he said sadly. “I never thought about it before. Or about most things, really.”

“Well,” said Tylix, looking as if he’d just stifled a particularly cutting remark. “Now that the threat’s passed, why don’t we go and find Denethrir and Margoreth? They’ll be thrilled to hear about this library.”

They left and made their way through the winding corridors, looking for a way back down. The journey was a long one. Evett and Rikti said little, but Tylix took the time to inform them about all the things he had learned in the library. Hexes, folktales, remedies…

Finally, on the fifth floor, they found a rickety staircase behind a nondescript door. Evett suspected even the pygmies had never dared to use it. He himself fell through more than a few steps. But in the end they managed to crawl back to the second floor in one piece.

When they were passing the entrance to the old atrium, Evett spoke up. “Tylix,” he said, “why did you come help us?”

The Kacheek stopped mid-stride. “What?”

“You risked your life for us, even when you said you wouldn’t. I mean, we appreciate it, but—why?”

“Oh.” Tylix shrugged. “Well, I happened to find that puddle in Korabric’s study, and I thought it would be helpful. It’s simple, really. You don’t have to fret about it.”

Rikti limped forward, his face solemn. “You don’t have to try to cheer us up. If you think we’re blundering idiots who walked right into a trap, you can just say it. And you wouldn’t be wrong, anyway.” He grimaced. “Can’t you tell us how you really feel?”

There was a lengthy pause. “Do you want to know? Really?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Tylix sighed. His eyes glanced over the burnt atrium. At that moment he seemed to come to a decision. “What do you think I am?”

“Huh?” said Evett.

“I mean it. When you look at me, what sort of image do you get?”

“Well, you’re a scholar’s apprentice,” Evett offered uncertainly. “You’re pretty smart. You like to read, and you want to learn about new things…?”

“And you’re pretentious,” added Rikti. “But what about it?”

Tylix chuckled. “It’s a scholar’s job to be pretentious. Since time immemorial.” His smile faded. He spent a long moment gazing over Evett’s shoulder at the ruins of the courtyard. “That’s… that’s the life I should’ve led.”

Evett’s tired mind began to turn. “The things you told me, when we were standing on the balcony yesterday,” he said slowly. Rikti looked at him, puzzled. “What did they mean?”

“I came here for myself,” said Tylix, as if he hadn’t spoken. “For my own selfish sake, so I could see the inside of Tower Gaia while I had the chance. So I could get a piece of that knowledge—of the things Neopia used to be.” He cracked a rueful smile. “Even with monsters crawling the earth, I’m happier about seeing Rollay’s garden. It’s just how I am. Don’t you think that’s twisted?”

“I don’t understand,” said Rikti. “What’s the rush? You have all the time in the world. Even Korabric said it’s no use living in the past.”

“Because he didn’t know. No one knows except me. But you… if you want to keep living this life, then I’ll tell you this.”

Evett and Rikti traded a glance. They’d asked for the truth, but Tylix seemed to be offering far more than they’d expected.

After a long silence, Tylix finally looked them in the eyes. Something had shifted within him—or, more accurately, a deeper side of him had suddenly been revealed. The darkness in every line of his face was so profound that neither Rikti nor Evett knew what to say.

“Remember when I told you about the different skills mages can have? Well, I’ve got one of my own.” Tylix took a deep breath, preparing to tell them the secret he had never once revealed. “I can see into the future through my dreams. And ever since I was born, there’s a certain dream that’s always followed me.

“It changes sometimes—floods, fires, earthquakes. The faces change too. But there’s one thing I know for sure: you can’t save Neopia.” Tylix closed his eyes. “Because this year, it will be destroyed for good.”


	5. Time and Tides

“Tylix! Ty-li-x! Wake _up_!”

The young Kacheek sat up with a start. Margoreth had whacked him upside the head with her spoon, to the giggles of the other apprentices. “Pay attention!” she said. “It’s your turn now. C’mon, tell us what you’ve been up to. You may be new here, but we still want to know what Master Denethrir’s got you doing!”

It was some long-ago spring in Sunnytown, and the apprentices’ lodge at the Guild of Scholars was abuzz with activity. A fresh batch of students had just arrived two weeks ago. Supper was quickly becoming a rowdy affair.

“Um, not much so far,” Tylix answered meekly, rubbing his temple. “You know… just copying scrolls and that sort of thing. I’m sure he gives you more interesting tasks, Margoreth.”

“Define ‘interesting,’” she sighed. “Sure we travel a lot, but it’s always just gathering herbs. I wish we could do some real digging.”

“At least you _get_ to travel!” said another apprentice. Kuent was his name, or Kuint, or something. Tylix didn’t much care for any of his colleagues. “My master just spends all day holed up in the archives.”

“So he’s the perfect fit for you!” Margoreth retorted, to general laughter. She was awkward in public, but among her fellow scholars it was easy to see why she was Sunnytown’s best-liked apprentice. Tylix wished he could be like her, or at least put up a convincing act.

A loud-mouthed Acara spoke up—was it Ros? No, _Rys_. “On the topic of shut-ins: Tylix, you’ve got to get some fresh air. You’ve barely gone outside since you got here, and I can see you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Oh, I don’t sleep much,” said Tylix with a blush. “Um. Too busy studying.” It was a thin excuse, but, considering his new profession, a believable one.

“Suit yourself.” Rys gave him a surprisingly kind look. “You’re from Littlecliff, right? The fishing village down south? I don’t blame you for feeling out of sorts.”

“He’ll be fine once he settles in,” Margoreth assured her. “I can already tell he’s sharper than all of us here.”

A chorus of “Hey! Speak for yourself!” and “That’s a low bar!” followed. Margoreth waved off the voices. “Say, Tylix, what kind of things do you want to study? I’m guessing it’s not herbs.”

“Me?” The apprentices’ eyes were fixed on him, warm and attentive. There was something unnerving about seeing those faces from his dreams, the faces he’d seen over and over for years, turned towards him in the flesh. He didn’t know how to speak to them.

 _I want to look into the past. I want to know what was, because I already know what will be. I want… to see everything there is to see._ It was what he had told himself when he’d been accepted into the Guild. This night was just another step on that long journey. He felt small, terribly small, and tired. “I—I’m not sure. Anyway, I’m done eating. Good night.”

“Did we say something wrong?” he could hear the others whispering as he ascended the stairs. “Poor kid, he’s stressed after all…”

He pushed open the door to his little room. It was dark and quiet, with only a dim ray of moonlight coming through the dirty window. His scroll of dream records lay unrolled on the desk. A few days ago he’d dreamed of the Institute, that famed ruin of the north. Would he ever get a chance to go there? It would be a year at least before Denethrir let him travel. He wondered if Neopia even had that long.

For a moment he imagined himself downstairs, enjoying a peaceful evening with the other apprentices. But he knew the destiny of an ordinary Neopian, chatting by the fireside or fishing away on the shores of the sea, had never been his lot. Putting away the scroll, he lay down in bed and shut his eyes. Another day gone.

* * *

Tower Gaia’s corridors were darkening with the onset of evening. The arching stonework that had seemed so elegant by daylight now hung overhead like a leering shadow—the shadow of Tylix’s prophesied doom.

“Destroyed? Neopia is going to be destroyed?” Rikti repeated incredulously. “You’re kidding, right? It’s just your dreams and stuff, it’s not like it’s actually going to happen!”

“I told you, these aren’t normal dreams,” said Tylix in a low voice, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking forward. Rikti and Evett had no choice but to follow. “I’ve seen it every night. Every night, for as long as I can remember. Whether it’s Jahbal behind it or someone else, I _know_ it’s coming.”

“This is crazy,” Rikti scoffed. “You’re a scholar, aren’t you? You ought to know I’ll need more evidence than that.”

“Evidence?” said Tylix. Without turning around, he reached into his bag and tossed a weatherworn roll of cheap parchment in Rikti’s direction. “Go to last spring. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

Grumbling, Rikti examined the fine, cramped script. “Okay, let’s see… ahem. _Month of Hunting. Same dream ever since the new moon. I’m in an ivy-covered atrium… likely Gaia. It’s on fire. Large battle with pygmy warriors. A big Lupe and a little Korbat are there with me. Darkness. I’m at a mountain, maybe a few months later. They’re lying on the ground. The mountain is frozen. The world is frozen. I wake up and feel cold._ ”

Silence. A dull sense of horror sank slowly into Evett’s bones.

“There you have it,” said Tylix at last, retrieving the parchment. “I… I don’t mind you knowing, as long as you keep it secret. It concerns you, after all.”

“It sure does!” Rikti exploded. “Putting aside all this mumbo-jumbo about the end of the world, why didn’t you let us know what was going to happen in this tower? Since you clearly had it all mapped out in advance.”

“I didn’t know much. It was a glimpse, not a diary. And there were several possibilities. Like forks in a road, you know? The closer I get to something, the more the path narrows.” Tylix’s mouth tightened. “You understand, though, don’t you? The road can fork however it pleases, but every track leads to destruction in the end. That’s the fate chosen for us. It’s not mumbo-jumbo, Rikti—I see it every night.”

Rikti looked away, chewing his lip. His cheeks were flushed with anger, and perhaps a bit of uncertainty.

“What about me?” Evett said in a small voice. “I’m from the future. It’s safe there. Isn’t it?”

“Most likely. But that’s a time so distant we can’t even count the years. A civilization built on the ashes of ours. However nice it is there, it’s small comfort.”

Evett said nothing. The hallway echoed hollowly with the sound of their footsteps, as if the tower itself mourned its impending collapse. Evett looked back briefly and saw the burnt-out shell of the old courtyard one last time. He felt sick. Hearing Tylix’s wistful voice, his own time sounded farther away than ever. He had to defeat the evil of this land to return there, but it sounded impossible. He was trapped. Trapped in this wasteland until the day it tumbled down for good—

“I’m not turning back,” said Rikti defiantly. “Your magic dreams don’t change a thing. How many times do I have to say it? _I’m going to save the world._ It’s _worth_ saving. Whether you like it or not!”

Tylix shrugged, resigned. “I won’t stop you. I can’t stop anything, you know.”

Rikti shot him a glance, but before he could say anything more, the group turned a corner and found themselves back at the front door. Tylix pushed it open. The wide clearing stood before them, green and inviting. A cool breeze rushed into the tower, startling all three of them. There was something soothingly ordinary about it.

Tylix turned around with an innocent look—as if nothing, much less an omen of the apocalypse, had ever happened. “Okay, here we are. Master Denethrir’s tent should still be by the western outbuilding,” he said. “Don’t tell him or Margoreth about any of this. I don’t want to worry them.”

“What? You’re worrying _us_ plenty,” said Rikti.

“You’re out to be heroes, aren’t you?” Tylix answered, matter-of-fact. “You can handle it. Come on, let’s go.”

They stepped out into the meadow. The sun was about to set, giving the ruins of the Institute a haunting glow. Tylix went off in the direction of the outbuildings without looking back. Evett and Rikti went a bit more slowly. The thought of destruction and salvation—of the great task Korabric had laid upon them, which now seemed utterly unreachable—hung over their heads. Only two days had passed since Evett had stood here last, but it felt more like a century.

Rikti took a deep, shaky breath. Now that Tylix had gone, all the passion and certainty seemed to leave him at once. He stumbled on his bad leg and reached for Evett’s arm to steady for him, with a child’s instinctive grasp. At the last second he pulled back with an embarrassed look. Evett lent him his arm anyway.

“What do you think?” asked Rikti quietly. “Of Tylix?”

Evett couldn’t shake the memory of the Kacheek’s lonely, haunted expression under the light of the atrium. “I think he’s telling the truth. Or his truth, anyway.”

“Figures. I really am in over my head, aren’t I? I don’t have a clue.” Rikti shoved his hands in his pockets as they trudged on through the grass. “I thought—I thought this was the right thing to do. Beat up the monsters, get fame and glory. Turns out the monsters aren’t even monsters.”

Evett had no answer to that. He feared the monsters more than anything else. When he looked at them, he couldn’t help but see himself. It felt as if the world was a barbed cage closing in around him.

Finally Rikti went on. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m still going to fight. I just want to do it better.” Looking even more embarrassed now, he stared at his feet and mumbled, “Thanks for helping me today. I was reckless—well, I’ll always be reckless, but… I promise I won’t put you in danger like that again. We’re in this together.”

It was practically an apology. Seeing his face, full of boyish shame and determination, Evett felt a twinge of pity. “Don’t worry about me,” he said with a cough. “You know I’m just using you to get home, right? I’m not really your friend or anything.”

Rikti tilted his head. “Sure, but it’s still my job to look after you while you’re here. Plus, I like you. And there’s nothing you can do about that.” He reached up on his tiptoes to squeeze Evett’s shoulder. “It’s just like you said, back in the garden. I’m not alone in this fight. None of us are alone, whatever Tylix thinks—the world’s got our back.”

Light shone over the grass. The sky gleamed orange and violet. Another day was coming to end, here in this peaceful oasis of the land called Neopia. Evett wanted to hate it. He _had_ hated it only minutes ago, and many a time before that. And yet, looking at this scene—one of so many precious moments he had seen on his travels—he had to admit that Korabric’s last words hadn’t been so far off the mark. This world was alive even in the midst of darkness, even as it hurtled towards the precipice of doom. It was alive, and profoundly beautiful.

If the door back to his own time were to open in front of him right this second, he wasn’t sure he would step through it. And that was the most painful realization of all.

“Evett? Hello?” said Rikti.

Evett glanced down at him. Guilt and longing rose and fell in his heart. “Yeah, whatever you say.”

Rikti beamed at him. They walked on down through the meadow to the waiting outbuildings. Tylix was waiting for them, sitting at a roaring campfire with his fellow scholars. They were already talking excitedly and trading notes.

“Well, well, well!” boomed Denethrir as they approached. “If it isn’t our conquering warriors!” He jumped up and shook their hands fervently. “My word! To think you really managed to defeat the pygmies and make it to Tower Gaia’s library!”

“I had my doubts, but you’ve blown them clean away,” said Margoreth, whistling. “Say, how was Tylix? I’d ask him myself, but you know how he is. You spent two days with the little shut-in, after all.” She winked broadly.

“Uh—he was helpful?” said Rikti, clearly unsure how much he could say. “He’s certainly, um, intelligent.”

“That’s our boy!” said Denethrir, giving Tylix a hearty clap on the back. “I knew your Kayannin script practice would come in handy! With this under your belt, you’ve certainly got a bright future ahead of you!”

Tylix’s smile faltered for a second, but only for a second. “Thank you, sir. Um, I can give my report now if you want—“

“Why, certainly! It’ll make for pleasant dinner conversation! Oh, and you fighters over there, help yourselves to an extra serving of soup! It’ll do no good if our courageous friends have to leave the field on a stretcher! Settle in, everyone, settle in!”

With that, dinner was a go. Tylix launched into a exhaustive description of all the material he had perused in the library. Denethrir and Margoreth were all ears, of course. Rikti and Evett, for their part, could only gape at the Kacheek’s enthusiasm.

“…found a _mint_ copy of Anselt’s compendium. With this, proving the D conjecture ought to be easy. It’s a huge breakthrough!”

“No kidding,” Margoreth gasped. “Now that’s a find! Did he mention the rest of the Twelve, by chance? It’s so hard finding reliable quotes these days.”

“There was a chapter about Haletha and Berynn, but it needs corroboration. The good news is there’s plenty to look at! I can’t wait to see it.” Tylix’s eyes were shining. He had seemed eager before, but now that he was among his own kind, the long anecdotes and swooping hand gestures seemed to triple in size. Evett couldn’t help but feel moved by his sheer energy. It was as if the ruined Institute had revived, if only for a moment, by the side of this little campfire.

“Wow,” said Rikti under his breath. He stared into the depths of the fire. “I guess everyone needs something.” To that Evett had no reply.

The evening wore on, until it was moonlight and not firelight that illuminated the scholars’ discussion. Finally, having delivered his report and conferred with his fellows at length, Tylix decided to conclude the talks. The night air was clear and cool as they settled in to sleep under the stars. All the menace of the past few days had dissipated like mist after rain.

They had decided on keeping watch, though the risk of attack was practically nil. Evett was woken sometime past midnight by Margoreth for his shift, which was entirely uneventful. For the first hour he amused himself by tracing the constellations above him with his paw. He’d seen them countless times before, if only at a careless glance; but under these unfamiliar skies with no lamplight to comfort him, they were somehow imposing.

“Keeping yourself busy?” came a voice from behind.

Evett turned sheepishly as Tylix sat down next to him. He felt a little awkward carrying on a real conversation after all that had happened. What _could_ he say?

“What’re you up for?” said Evett finally. “There’s still a while before your watch, I think.”

“I don’t sleep much.” Tylix’s mouth twitched into a rueful smile. “You can probably guess why, now.”

“…Oh.” Evett remembered the terrible vision of a frozen world that Tylix had written down a year ago. A distant mountain overlooking a world covered in snow and ice. Could that be Jahbal’s fortress? A shiver ran down Evett’s spine. He pictured himself and Rikti lying in the snow, lifeless and cold.

Tylix looked at him for a long moment. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ve got a strong heart. I’m sure you’ll get home safe.”

Evett shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’m just as strong as anybody else. And what’s with the encouraging words, anyway? I didn’t think you had an optimistic bone in your body.”

“It’s not encouragement.” Tylix stared out over the moonlit grass at nothing in particular. “I think you can do it. You aren’t bound to this place, the way we are. You can live the way you choose.”

 _If only you knew._ “Can’t you?” said Evett. “You didn’t choose to have those dreams. You’re not on a quest like Rikti is. There’s nothing stopping you from living an ordinary life.” The little apartment with its white walls and piles of clothes flashed painfully before his eyes.

A tantalizing pause. Then: “Evett. I can’t do that. There’s nothing ordinary about me.”

Tylix’s voice was sad, laboring under an unspeakable burden. Evett understood him now, at least a little. The happy-go-lucky apprentice, the hopeless cynic, the lonely scholar, the adventuring mage—all of them were Tylix, the true Tylix, traveling Neopia to try and preserve a forgotten past. Trying to save the world the only way he knew how.

Evett snorted suddenly. “You _are_ a good kid, you know that?”

“What?” Tylix turned to him in surprise.

“Oh, nothing,” said Evett. He lifted his head back up to the stars. Up to that unfamiliar, spectacular sky. There was something warm in his heart that defied all reason. He almost loathed the feeling.

 _So this is it,_ he thought. _We’ve all found a way to care about this dumb, beautiful world. What a stupid bunch we are._

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and warm. Rikti awoke sluggishly. His leg was feeling better, though not as much as he’d hoped. Stiff as a log and wrapped in bandages, it made for a pathetic sight. He gave it a rueful tap.

The events of the previous day, all the insane fighting and yelling, almost felt like a dream. He’d pushed himself harder than he’d thought possible, and then he’d paid the price. Hadn’t Mokti always chided him for this kind of thing? The memory, one of many, came easily to Rikti’s mind. Sitting on some street corner, bandaged and pouting, as that stern voice echoed from above: “You think you’re invincible, don’t you? You don’t remember a thing about what happened to our home—of course you don’t. Fighters and explorers, they’re all the same. Not a care in the world besides their absurd glory!”

 _It’s not about glory now. It’s…_ Rikti didn’t know what it was anymore. The only thing that scared him more than going on was going back. Mokti, Tylix, even Evett—they’d never understand. No matter how lost he was, no matter how many mistakes he made, he had chosen this road. He couldn’t go back.

Enough pondering. He sat up with a frown, roused by the smell of food. Margoreth was making breakfast by the campfire. “Morning,” she called out cheerfully as Rikti dragged himself closer. Still not entirely in good spirits, Rikti merely grunted in response.

“Got some news for you,” Margoreth went on. She angled her beak at Denethrir and Tylix, who were having a lively discussion several yards away. “It looks like Tylix wants to ditch Master Denethrir for you and Evett.”

“What?” said Rikti, his eyes snapping open fully. “What about Tower Gaia? I thought he wanted to go back in.”

“So did I,” said Margoreth with a chuckle. “But it sounds like he’s interested in whatever you two have planned next. The Wide Plains, was it? He wouldn’t shut up about it all morning. He acts sensible, you know, but when he sees opportunities he jumps at them.”

“Makes sense,” said Rikti, remembering all the talk yesterday about Tylix’s journey. _Seeing everything there is to see, huh..._ “But I’m more surprised he wants to stay with _us_. I was positive he couldn’t stand the sight of our faces.” Why else would he tell them about his awful dreams? Why else would he lay that burden on them?

“You’re kidding, right?” said Margoreth. “You two are the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Usually he’s horribly quiet when he’s not talking about his favorite lore. This is just a guess, but I think you really get him somehow.”

Get him? _Get_ a secretive prophecy-spouting mage who couldn’t even decide how cynical he felt like being at any given moment? “I don’t know if I want to,” said Rikti with a sigh.

Just then Denethrir jogged back to the campsite. “And it’s settled!” the Bruce declared. “Tylix will transfer his apprenticeship to the care of these lovely fighters for the duration of three months! On the condition that he reports all his archaeological findings to me upon his return, naturally! I find this quite agreeable!”

With a flourish he handed Rikti a long sheaf of parchment. Rikti squinted at the words with difficulty. “Hold on, apprenticeship? Am I taking apprentices now?” he sputtered.

“It’s just paperwork,” whispered Margoreth. “Master Denethrir loves this kind of stuff.” She cleared her throat and spoke up. “Sir, as for the matter of our botanic research?”

“Excellent question!” said Denethrir. “I’ve been ruminating on the matter, and I’d like to postpone our return to Neopia City! We’ll sail to Swampedge City and follow up on some of our results with the plants there! Afterwards, time permitting, we shall return here and explore Tower Gaia which these fine folk here have so graciously opened up to us. In any case, let’s gather our belongings, everyone! Long journeys ahead of all of us!”

“Swampedge City, huh,” Rikti muttered grouchily. It was a good thing he didn’t have to go back himself—that portal thing to the plains was a convenient way to skip past his nasty little hometown. Mokti was probably heading there now; Rikti knew his brother’s itinerary like the back of his hand. The mere thought of him was an annoyance.

Or so he thought, but when all the packing was done and the groups were ready to go their separate ways, Rikti found himself reluctantly tapping Margoreth’s shoulder.

“Hey, when you get on the ship to Swampedge City, can you pass on a message?” he mumbled.

“Hmm. To who?”

“My big brother, a merchant. He looks just me, so you can’t miss him. Now that winter’s coming, he’ll be on that boat. Just tell him—” Rikti stopped, letting the words catch in his throat. He’d gotten this far. Why was it so blasted hard now?

“Tell him what?” prompted Margoreth.

The thoughts circled in Rikti’s mind endlessly. _Tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ran off without saying anything. And I talked about our parents, and insulted you, and… I’m sorry. It’s just the way you talk sometimes that sets me off._ His eyes stung suddenly. He could practically see Mokti’s face, that eternally fussy and overprotective face, hovering in the air before him. _I know you don't approve, but I have to do this. I have to be strong enough. It’s something bigger than my stupid quest now. Even if you don’t agree, I wish you could just try to understand..._

Rikti blew out the breath he’d been holding. His chest ached. Margoreth was still standing in front of him, waiting for an answer.

“Tell him I‘m doing what I set out to do. He’ll figure out the rest.”

Margoreth and Denethrir took their leave soon afterward, waving goodbye as they set off on the long road back through the jungle to the port southwest of Neopia City. Tylix gave them a long look as they departed, as if trying to engrave them in his memory.

Rikti, meanwhile, thought of the monsters lurking in the jungle. He wasn’t worried for the scholars; they looked handy enough with their daggers. No, it was a sudden pang of sympathy for the monsters themselves. They were just victims of fate. He’d have been one himself, if not for a stroke of luck. It wasn’t fair. Who decided the winners and the losers? Who had the right?

He didn’t have the answers. It didn’t matter anyway—the monsters were enemies, whatever their pasts might have been. Nothing would end until he put it to an end. Trying to convince himself of that, he turned his back firmly on the jungle.

The conversation turned to their next destination: the Wide Plains that Korabric had spoken of in his last speech. Evett rubbed his chin. “So what’s this place like? I guess it’s pastures or something?”

“No way,” said Rikti, speaking from experience. Swampedge City lay near the northernmost stretches of the plains, and he’d spent many an idle day looking out over the blank grass. “It’s an empty, dried-out wasteland for miles and miles. No one’s farmed there for centuries, and no one goes through it either—not even the monsters.”

“I wonder who Aelon is,” said Tylix. “I’ve never heard of him in my studies.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find out,” Rikti objected. “Y’know, with your crazy prophecies and whatever.”

Tylix grimaced. “Like I said, they’re _glimpses_. They usually don’t make much sense until they happen, anyway. There’s no point discussing them.” Grumbling, he pulled the map of the tower from his pocket. “Enough about that. Let’s find the portal Korabric mentioned. According to this, it ought to be underground. A pretty common place for hidden rooms in these archaic constructions, I’ve found…” His mood seemed to lift the more he talked. Rikti rolled his eyes. What a guy.

As it turned out, the entrance was on the back side of the tower, though the door and stonework had all faded with time into a crumbling hole in the wall. Behind it, a cracked and moss-carpeted stone staircase led down into impenetrable darkness. No one and nothing, it seemed, had disturbed this place since the Old Times.

“Here we go again,” Rikti muttered as he stepped over the threshold. The trio descended into the pit, shining their lanterns ahead of them. With all the loose and shattered stones, the going was slow. Rikti dreaded the thought of another treacherous maze of corridors awaiting him after this ordeal was over. What was it with ancient builders and pointless complexity?

But to his surprise, the only thing at the floor of the basement was a single, tiny room. The walls were bare stone and the air sat heavily. On the floor, carved in smooth deep lines, was an intricate circular pattern. It did look rather like the circles Rikti had seen in Xantan’s lair and the garden of Tower Gaia. So this was another one of those Old-Timey devices.

Evett held his lantern above it suspiciously, as if expecting Jahbal himself to pop out. Nothing happened, but the design became somewhat clearer. Rikti noticed strange lines of text curving around it. “Um… so does this actually work?”

Tylix walked around it, looking positively thrilled. “It really is intact! This is fantastic,” he said. “They’re impossible to find these days. Even in the Old Times, the use of these circles was a closely guarded secret—any strong mage who knew the design could replicate them, you see. Most were portals, but it’s said Jahbal created others for his own purposes… though I suppose you’d know more about that than me,” he added with a meaningful look. “The writing on the outside is an incantation in Kayannin script, by the way. How it works is—”

Rikti cleared his throat loudly.

“…Sorry. Basically, you just use magic to activate the spell while standing in the circle. With Evett’s ridiculous output, we should have enough. Rikti, you can’t do magic, so you’ll have to hold on to one of us.”

“Uh, okay,” said Rikti, grabbing the back of Evett’s tunic. The Lupe gulped visibly and placed his paw on the rim of the circle.

“You seem awfully confident about all this,” he said.

Tylix shrugged. “If I can’t take a few risks every now and again, who can?”

Rikti scowled but said nothing. Tylix and Evett nodded at each other. On the count of three, twin bolts of fire and ice shot out from the mages’ palms. The circle lit up, giving the room a ghastly glow. A low hum filled the air as energy spilled through it. Rikti’s hair stood on end.

“Okay, here it comes!” Tylix shouted.

The trio hurtled into the floor. Down, down into the black pit, through a rushing tunnel of wind—

—and face-first into a tuft of grass. Rikti spat out a mouthful of dirt, his head spinning inexplicably. “Whoa. Did we actually…?”

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. Even after Tylix had told him what to expect, he was still amazed. This really was the Wide Plains. It was the same view he had seen all those years ago. The air was dry. The land was perfectly flat. Dust and dirt blew on the breeze. And from here to the horizon in every direction lay a hundred billion blades of dull yellow grass. They rose and fell in unison with the breeze, like the tide lapping at some distant shore.

Tylix and Evett’s voices shook him out of his daydream. “This place looks… friendly,” Evett said lamely. “How far did we travel?”

“Pretty far,” Rikti said. “All the way across the Summer Sea. Neopia City and the jungle are to the northeast, if that helps.” Seeing Evett’s perplexed face, he went on. “Umm… think of the country like a crescent moon. Neopia City is on the top side, and the peninsula where the Institute is makes up the pointy tip. The Two Rings and a bunch of other cities are at the bottom of the crescent. We’re kind of in the middle part right now. The big, ugly middle.”

Tylix nodded solemnly. “Yes. This place used to be the breadbasket of Neopia, but after the Old Times it declined to what you see now. A rather unfortunate sight.”

Scattered around were worn blocks of stone, the remnants of an ancient structure. The stone slab behind him, bearing an exact replica of the magic circle that had transported him here, had evidently once been well-adorned. Now its smooth surface, still shiny and polished by some otherworldly means after all these centuries, looked out of place in the untrimmed wilderness.

“Nobody around, it looks like,” said Evett. “Should we go back? We might be able to catch up with Denethrir.”

“Let’s at least explore a little,” Rikti suggested. “Korabric wouldn’t have told us about Aelon for no reason. There’s got to be something worth finding here.”

He looked around. The grass beneath him, and all around the magic circle for about fifty feet, was perfectly flattened. Funny—he didn’t think Tylix and Evett had put out _that_ much magic. But it wasn’t like anyone else could have come through here. He put the matter out of his mind. Farther off in the distance, there were more stones that seemed to form a ragged line of sorts. They were widely spaced and small enough that it was difficult to spot them unless one was looking carefully; upon closer inspection, however, their shape and composition clearly followed a pattern. “These were laid down deliberately ages ago, I think,” said Tylix with a note of eagerness. “They probably used to mark the sides of a road. Let’s see where it leads.”

The trio slowly made their way westward through the spotless waves of grass, struggling at times to spot their next guidepost. The landscape around them was as unchanging as the stone vistas Rikti had seen in Tower Gaia. Save a few gnarled trees, there was no sign of life. Only by looking behind them at the winding line of stones could they mark their progress. All they could do was hope the destination would be worth their while.

That day and the next were much the same. The stones meandered mournfully on, without any sense of space or time. Every now and again Rikti saw ominous shadows circling in the air above the thin ring of clouds. They were certainly monsters, but they never attacked. He could only guess why.

It was cold, and a grim light was in the air. Rikti found himself wondering what this place had been in better days. The only song he knew about the Plains was _The Ballad of Erick and the Babaa Temple_ , and that ditty seemed infinitely removed from his current surroundings. Erick and the Archmagus of Roo gallivanting from town to town, wading through great golden fields of wheat… sure, they’d had something of a bittersweet ending, but nothing like _this_. Who knew what had really happened? Xantan’s cave and the Institute were one thing, but here the wind and grass had stripped even memory from the earth. He shivered.

As night fell, they huddled over a small fire and ate the last of Evett’s omelettes. Tylix had grown rather fond of them, and detailed at length their resemblance to some foreign dish he’d had once down south. Rikti listened with some interest (northern cuisine tasted… bleak, to say the least, though he’d never admit that in mixed company), but Evett had a brooding expression on his face. Rikti was drawn once again to his eyes, just as he had been that day in Neopia City. They looked like shallow pools. The firelight mirrored in those dark pupils hid whatever lay beneath—if there was anything beneath them at all.

 _I don’t know him,_ Rikti thought. It was true, what Evett had said. They weren’t friends. Rikti was the type to speak his mind around anyone, but Evett kept his heart to himself. Only at times like these, when he seemed absorbed by some inner darkness, did it bubble to the surface. Even Tylix seemed candid by comparison. And who knew what other awful secrets _he_ had? Rikti didn’t know. He didn’t know a single one of these Neopets he shared the fire with, not even—these days—himself.

His earlier thoughts came back to him. About the stories… about memory. Absentmindedly he started to hum. Tylix, wrapping up his treatise on Shenkuunese eggs, turned to him in surprise. It was an old, rollicking song. Slowly the words came back to his mind, carrying the simple melody into the wind.

  
_The days and nights pass by like rain,_  
_The boundless river flows._  
_Who now recalls those golden years?_  
_Let him sing who knows!_

  
_Jahbal was strong, a fearless king,_  
_His eye was keen and bold._  
_And with him stood the Circle’s might,_  
_Beloved lords of old._

  
_O Rosval's shield, o Mirnar's bow,_  
_From you were legends born;_  
_O wise Faleinn, o Xantan fierce,_  
_Your ruin still we mourn._

  
_The days and nights pass by like rain,_  
_The river meets the shore._  
_Now turn them back to springs and mist,_  
_To waters known no more…_

Rikti trailed off, belatedly aware that Evett and Tylix were staring at him openmouthed. “Don’t stop there!” said Evett.

“I wish I could keep going, but I don’t remember the rest,” said Rikti ruefully. “It’s really something. Full of the Twelve’s great deeds and wars, all the way from their very first battle to the… the Ghost City. Anyway, it’s a nice song. I like that kind of stuff.”

He couldn’t put the thought into words. It just didn’t feel right for a place this large and terrifying to be so empty. Songs—they were full of valor and daring. Of _life_. Darkness never won, and if it did, Rikti didn’t bother learning those verses. It was the kind of past that made the present more real.

“I haven’t heard that tune in a while. It’s uplifting, but there are sad notes to it, aren’t there?” Tylix swallowed the last of his omelette thoughtfully. “You’re a good storyteller.”

“Really?” Rikti flushed, certain there was an insult buried in there somewhere. The Kacheek’s face was as cryptically carefree as always. “Well, you’re not wrong. I’ve got the voice for it. Right, Evett?” He took on his favorite baritone. “ _It was a cold night when the armies of the Twelve advanced on Xantan’s laaair…_ ”

“One more word and you’ll be tomorrow’s kindling,” said Evett loudly.

The fire was down to embers as they got ready for bed. Rikti lay on the grass, hearing the buoyant music replay in his head, but still he felt little solace. He’d always wanted to live out those great legends, the way the heroes of old had. It was a wonderful, foolish dream. But as he looked left and right at his companions, he couldn’t help but think that there were as many dreams in the world as stars in this twinkling sky.

* * *

The third day came and went like the previous two. Watching the shadows passing overhead, Rikti began to feel that even an attack would be a welcome change of pace. Then, as another evening crept up on them, he saw a silhouette on the horizon. A tumbled-down collection of stones, black against the hazy sunset. Abruptly, even as he watched, it blinked out of existence.

“What the—did you guys see that?” he asked the others.

Tylix squinted. “Yes, it’s… fading in and out, or something. Look, it’s back.”

They hastened their pace. It took half an hour for them to reach the strange sight. In that hour it appeared and disappeared half a dozen times, as if cloaked by an unseen fog. Though Rikti had never heard of magic that could make things vanish into thin air, he knew something bizarre was happening here. And that probably meant the Old Times were related.

The trio came to their destination just as the sun fell below the grass. Evett held his lantern up to the nearest stone. It was thirty feet tall, much larger than it had looked from a distance. Maybe it had been a pillar once, but now its pockmarked grey surface looked no different from any other rock. There were dozens of them scattered around, some upright, some fallen. They formed a kind of ragged square, fifty or so feet long each way.

Just then the ruin faded out of existence again. Rikti cautiously reached out into the empty air and felt the unmistakable touch of cold stone. “So it just _looks_ like it’s not there,” he said. “I don’t get it. Who’d do this?”

“Aelon, probably,” said Tylix. “Illusions like these are powerful magic. And I’m sure it’s no coincidence that the trail we followed led us here.” Without even a pause he stepped between the stones and into the square.

“Hey!” Evett hissed, but Tylix beckoned them inward. Reluctantly they followed. Nothing happened. The air here was heavy with magic, so much so that Rikti felt like he was wading rather than walking. The buzz of energy on his skin made him lightheaded.

Within the square, crisscrossed by the stones’ long shadows, there was something else. It was an indistinct blur that did not flicker; even with Evett’s lantern right up against it, Rikti could only just make out a faint dark outline about twice his height. It felt like stone when he touched it, but its shape was irregular. If it too was hidden by a spell, the spell was much more potent. Rikti couldn’t guess what it was supposed to be.

“Amazing. A spell this old, and it’s only now beginning to fade. I wonder how long this place has gone unnoticed.” Tylix began to feel around the object, fascinated. “I’m positive this is where Korabric wanted us to go.”

Rikti thought he felt a slight rumble beneath his feet. But he soon forgot it. From above came the sound of flapping wings, and the screeching of a dozen voices. The monsters had arrived. As the trio looked up in shock, their claws were already scraping the tallest of the stones.

Suddenly the weight of the air doubled. Rikti staggered where he stood. The whole earth seemed to list like a sinking ship. He couldn’t tell if it was really happening, or if it was just another illusion; it certainly felt real enough to his disoriented mind. Fumbling blindly, he managed to unsheathe his sword and take up something resembling a stance. But these enormous monsters—ghouls, they looked like—could not be fought. Not at night in these conditions. Every movement of theirs roused a thick cloud of dust and grass, even their swishing tails. The spikes running down their spines were encrusted with moss and mud. Certainly they couldn’t be native to the Plains, Rikti thought. But then, where _had_ they come from, and why were they here?

The trio scattered, trying to avoid the monsters’ wayward blows, but the ghouls took no interest in them. Snarling and tossing their scaly blue heads, they began to beat the standing stones. Once the stones flickered away as they usually did, the enraged monsters began to pace madly about the square. Rikti could hardly see them; Evett had dropped his lantern some time ago in the chaos, leaving only rampaging shadows at every turn. There was nowhere to hide. Rikti, doing his best to dodge the stampede, managed to crawl behind a fallen stone just as it reappeared. The sound of pounding hoofbeats made his head spin. He forced himself to focus on looking for the others.

Dimly he spotted Evett on the opposite side of the square, slumped against another of the great pillars. He didn’t look hurt, but his breath was heaving. Tylix, meanwhile, was struggling back to the object in the center. It looked far too exposed for Rikti’s liking, but Tylix gestured to him with urgency. What crazy scheme was that scholar up to now?

The hair on his head prickled. He’d never felt this much magic in the air before, and it was roiling his stomach. Fighting the urge to retch, he began to move cautiously in Tylix’s direction. But just then, he saw a ghoul pass overhead. It was running across the square, intent on a newly materialized stone. Its path was leading it straight to Tylix’s unprotected back.

“Hey! Watch out!” Rikti scrambled to his feet, fighting the leaden air, and swung his sword at the monster’s retreating ankles. The monster grunted in pain and stopped short for a moment. Rikti seized the opportunity to run around and get in front of it—just barely enough distance to push Tylix and himself out of the way.

Or so he’d thought, but then his bad leg gave in. He stumbled, buffeted by the pulsing waves of energy. The monster growled. With a sweeping motion, it kicked Rikti and Tylix out of its way. All the breath was driven out of Rikti’s lungs in an instant. He and Tylix tumbled backward, skidding over the grass and into... darkness? Confusion overcame terror. There was nothing beneath them. They were falling down a pit.

Wind rushed past Rikti’s ears. He had less than a second. There was no time to consider where he was, or what had become of Evett, or why any of this was happening. His last thought was to unfurl his wings. Not that Korbat wings were worth much in a fall, but—he held his breath and grabbed Tylix with all the strength he could muster.

They hit the ground. Before Rikti lost consciousness, he heard a voice speak from the heavy clouds of magic: _”What does Lord Korabric want? What are the Twelve asking for now? I waited so long... so long...”_

And around him, the clouds took form.


	6. The Contest of Mages

Evett’s breath came in gasps. He was lying on the grass somewhere outside the ruins. How he had gotten there he couldn’t recall; as soon as those huge winged monsters had come, he’d crawled blindly as far away as he could get. He’d never felt like this before. He knew the illusions weren’t real, that the earth wasn’t really swinging like a pendulum, but it was like the magic had sunk inside him somehow—his head was pounding, and a nausea he couldn’t describe was working its way into his belly. Even now, several feet away, the sick feeling clung to him.

_Boom._ One of the great stones toppled to the earth. The ground shook with the impact. Evett could do nothing but curl up as wind and dirt rushed over him. Finally, desperate to see what was happening, he dared to lift his head. The moon was coming out from behind a cloud, revealing the silhouettes of the monsters. They were pacing around the stones, pummeling them with one strike after another. Every now and then the ruins would fade away, only to reappear sluggishly as if dragged out from behind their cloak. Not even the spells protecting them from sight could save them now.

Tylix and Rikti were nowhere to be seen. Evett looked around anxiously. He could only hope they were hiding somewhere. If the monsters had hurt them, he’d—he’d... he didn’t know what he would do. Run away? Fight? Avenge them? That didn’t sound like him. He wasn’t thinking straight now. Too much pain. Sensations that didn’t belong. It was something about this place, about the magic coating the air. Nothing was natural about it.

The illusions were giving way, bit by bit; he could feel it in the atmosphere. Evett supposed this one-sided battle would soon be over, for better or worse. But then without warning there came a new rush of energy. The stones, and indeed the whole image of the ruins, began to ripple like a trembling pool. The monsters cried out and tossed their heads. Evett collapsed again, unable to withstand the waves of magic. It was all he could do to keep his eyes fixed on the scene.

The ripples settled. Evett blinked in shock. The stones had vanished completely. What stood in their place now were rectangular columns, smooth and upright, forming an open square plaza. Amid them were twelve sculpted figures that stared outward like sentinels. The grass was transformed into a wide, sturdy floor inlaid with colorful mosaic tiles. A bell tower stood at the center, rising to a graceful height over the plains. It was a humble thing, far from what the Institute and the inner ring of Neopia City had been, but there was a serene antiquity to it. This too was a picture, no matter how faint, of the long-gone past.

Standing atop the newly-formed floor was a mighty crowd—well, only a hundred or so Neopets, but that many appearing out of thin air was enough to make Evett gape. They were a motley bunch, dressed in grimy robes and wearing uneasy expressions, but each gripped makeshift weapons: bows, spears, axes. One stood only yards away from where Evett lay. Though Evett knew they were just illusions, he could not shake the feeling of recognition. He could see the strength in their faces and the way they stood. It reminded him of something he had seen once, long ago.

At their head was a tall blue Blumaroo wrapped in a starry blue cloak. He alone seemed more real than the rest, and his eyes as he faced the horde of monsters were alive with red light. As he raised his arms, the illusions around him took solid form. Evett winced. The magic was biting into him more than ever.

“Welcome,” said the Blumaroo. His gravelly voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “I am Aelon. You know me well. Have you made yourselves at home here, vile ghouls?”

Evett gaped. So this was Korabric’s old friend? He hadn’t expected someone quite so terrifying.

“My duty has not changed,” Aelon continued. “I am charged with the defense of this land. Turn back, or face me.”

As one, the monsters let out a new shriek that chilled Evett to the bone. They were far from the haggard Meepits and cave Lupes of the world, trapped in Rollay’s prison of plain hunger and instinct. These creatures had been enslaved by an even greater curse. Just as Korabric had warned, it was another will that commanded them to move in unison. And now they did, rearing up on their hind legs to swallow up their enemy—

Aelon brought down his arms. Behind him, the illusionary soldiers loosed their bows. Thin arrows of pure ice energy shot into the sky. They disappeared as they flew, hid by some other clever spell, right until the moment they pierced their enemies’ hides. Evett watched, entranced, as the monsters raged. The flashing light was like a firework, showing for a brief moment their horrible faces and twisting forms. Then they rushed forward. The soldiers advanced silently to meet them. And Aelon, surging above the fray with some enchanted spell, pulled a black staff from his cloak. A gleaming blue jewel the size of Evett’s paw sat on its tip. With a roar, he launched blast after blast into the battle. The earth quivered under each one.

Though the ruined stones were no longer visible, they were not truly gone. One of them near Evett fell, toppled by a stray blast. The forced pushed Evett even farther into the darkness. He stayed there, shivering. Somehow he had to get up and fight. Or at the very least, he had to get closer. This was his chance to go back to his own time. If Jahbal had brought him here, and if that same Jahbal really was controlling these monsters, then it was a simple choice.

Bracing himself, he began to crawl forward. Every inch brought with it paralyzing nausea. The world seemed to have stopped spinning, perhaps because Aelon had put away his old illusion, but it brought Evett no comfort. What was he thinking, going near this crazy battle? Only a week or two ago he’d been ready to run away from a Bearog in the Hills of Jub. On his own, without Rikti and Tylix to banter with, he was worse than useless. Anyone could see he wasn’t cut out for this. And yet, propelled by desperation, he kept crawling.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he reached the very edge of the square. His fevered thoughts ran away from him. Unable to stand, unable to flee, he lay and watched the ferocious clash. It had gone on unabated all this time, obscured every now and then by dust clouds rising out of the parched grass. Many of the ghouls had already fallen under Aelon’s tireless attack. But now a fresh horde was coming out of the east. Their landing stirred a gust of wind that flattened the grass. Aelon fixed them with an impassive glare.

“So you are resolved to destroy me, then,” he said. The crowd of soldiers hefted their weapons. “Very well. Though I am the last, my vow to the Archmagus is the same. Shall we begin?”

He leveled his staff at the monsters. Energy pelted the earth with dizzying speed. Evett gagged. It was all he could do to stay conscious. For a while, trying to take his mind off the pain, he stared at the illusions above his head. He was lying at the feet of one of the twelve statues: a Gelert with a stern gaze, his bulky arms crossed in silent reproach. A longsword was strapped to his back, and buckled to his wrist was a sturdy round shield. Rosval the Righteous, member of the Circle of Twelve—Evett could guess that much from hearing Rikti’s ramblings. Imaginary though it was, the statue was so bold and proud that Evett would have hardly blinked if Rosval himself had come to life and shooed him away.

In the distance he could see the other sculptures; a tall Aisha, a stout Skeith, an Eyrie with wings unfurled. There was a silent majesty to them. They were untouched by the battle, of course, and their perfection was one that no weathered relic could match. Evett looked up at the bell tower with its sharp ledges and soaring roof. So this was what the Old Times had been like. He began to see why Tylix loved history, why Rikti repeated those stories of his so breathlessly. Even a millennium later, the golden age of Neopia cast a long shadow.

The battle was reaching a frenzied pitch. Another bout of pain wracked Evett, and he squeezed his eyes shut to blot it out. He was hearing things now. Voices, faces, old reminiscences that fell away. _Hey, mister… you ever been to Neopia Central?_ The words were like a maddening song. He tried to shut them out, think of the good times he’d had, but the memories didn’t come. Why was he forgetting? Maybe everyone here was chasing after the past and all its beautiful sights, but Evett only cared for what he could see. The ordinary world, its ordinary pleasures. A mirror could only reflect, after all; it could never look into itself.

* * *

_A flaming town on the coast. A mountain brought to its knees. An earthquake breaking the continent in two. Again, again, again._ It was the same dream as the one from eight nights ago. Nothing new. He couldn’t allow himself to flinch from it. He had made it his duty to observe everything he could. And so the fires raged on, the ground swelled and broke, and somewhere in the middle of it all a trio of Neopets on the Wide Plains shouted a plea to the sky. Nothing he wasn’t used to. Nothing painful, really.

_But it_ is _painful. It hurts. My eyes hurt—my head hurts—why does it—?_ The sights before him began to shift. The colors grew searingly bright. There was a flash of gold light, brilliant like a second sun. Before he could even take it in, it was gone. Then the vision went black.

“Ugh…” Tylix woke, feeling sick. It wasn't usual that his dreams ended so suddenly. His head pounded in his skull. His back was flat against a cold stone floor, and it ached so badly that he didn’t dare move. He felt a dozen bruises blooming all over his body. For a while he lay there with his eyes shut, trying to collect his disordered thoughts amid the pain.

At length he remembered what had happened. He and others had come across some strange ruin on the plains, only for ghouls to attack. Then he’d realized there was an invisible _something_ in the middle of the ruin—a doorway with a hidden cavity behind it. He’d rushed for it. And then a ghoul had come up to him and… oh. He’d probably fallen in. He was underground now. Distantly he could hear the sounds of rocks crunching. It seemed the battle, if it could be called that, was still going on.

Tylix opened his eyes. After the crushing headache subsided, he gasped. He was in the air. Flying. Clouds floated by him; a luminescent full moon hung overhead, bigger than Tylix had ever seen it. The ground was a hazy shape two hundred feet below that glimmered faintly with the light of tiny farmhouses. Nothing but air and the mists of night separated it from him. Tylix sat up and stared for a moment, frozen in amazement and horror.

Then he realized that he wasn't flying after all. He could still feel stone underneath him. It was invisible behind this grand view, but it was there. And, stretching his arms out to the left, he felt a wall as well. Everything else—the moon, the clouds, the faraway earth—was just another illusion. He breathed again.

Leaning against the wall, he tried to look away from the disorienting sight of the ground gliding away beneath him. It was a highly convincing scene, better than anything a mage from the Guild of Scholars could come up with nowadays. Someone—Aelon, most likely—had gone to a great deal of trouble to create all these illusions. What was so precious about this place? Why was it buried under so many layers of magic? The spell up above that kept the ruins hidden made some sense, even if Tylix didn’t know what it was meant to protect, but what about _this_? Why would Aelon need a make-believe flying scene in this underground tunnel? Surely it wouldn't stymie any real invader for long. There were too many questions, and Aelon himself was nowhere to be seen.

In this midst of his thoughts, Tylix recalled that he hadn't come here alone. Rikti had shielded him, or done his best to, and then they'd both tumbled through the hole. There he was now, lying in a heap some distance away. His sword lay discarded by his side.

"Rikti?" Tylix whispered. The words seemed to fall dead in the magic-heavy air. Rikti made no response, but he shifted slightly. Good, not too badly hurt. Not that Tylix _particularly_ cared, but the alternative would be rather inconvenient at this stage. He stood on wobbly feet, made his way over to Rikti, and shook him gently. "Are you awake?"

“Leave me alone, Mokti,” Rikti mumbled. “’S not even morning yet, you big bully.”

“Who's this Mokti? Wake up already!”

Rikti's eyes popped open. "Huh? Tylix? Oww... my head hurts." He sat up, massaging his neck, and then abruptly caught sight of the sky all around him. Tylix managed to cover his mouth before he started to scream.

"It's just an illusion!" Tylix hissed. "Quiet, or else the monsters might hear us."

"Illusion?" Rikti hurriedly patted the wall for support. "Illusion, huh... man, it sure looks real."

For a minute they sat and watched the clouds rush past below them. Tylix could see the lush fields and twinkling lights on the ground, all rendered in loving detail. And up above, the stars and moon shone more brightly than the real ones ever had. "It's kind of nice, actually," Rikti commented. "Once you get used to it. I still feel sick, though."

"Probably from all the magic," said Tylix. "It's natural to get a bit of nausea when there's so much foreign energy in the air. Especially since we're inside a spell as huge as this one." Really, it was a fantastic feat. If not for their present circumstances, he could have studied it for days.

"Old Times stuff again. What a surprise." Rikti sighed and stood up with a grimace, sheathing his sword. "Great, I'm bruised all over too. Tried to break our fall, but clearly that didn't do much good. At least we're safe down here."

He paused and looked nervously upwards. Though the illusion blocked any sight of the ground, they could both hear shouts and echoes of destruction. "I hope Evett's okay. He looked awful, last I saw. Something’s not right with him.”

"He's more powerful than both of us put together," Tylix said matter-of-factly. "I wouldn't worry."

"Of course _you_ wouldn't," Rikti muttered.

They began to look for an exit. Tylix suggested Rikti try flying up and finding the hole they’d fallen through; Rikti pointed out (rather testily) that Korbat wings weren't built for vertical distance, much less with an extra Neopet in tow. They didn’t know how high up the exit was, in any case—judging from their bruises, it was quite far.

Instead they decided to walk around and check the walls for another way out. The room seemed to be cavernously large and circular, neatly laid out without any furniture or ornamentation. Tylix couldn’t hear or feel the slightest breeze, even as the illusionary flight continued unabated around him. All he could do was stretch his paws before him.

At last he walked up to the moon. It hung low in the sky, so large and elaborate that he could pick out the spots and craters on its white surface. He reached out and touched it. There was something metal there. He felt a rusty hinge, a series of decorative grooves, and at last—a handle.

"There's a door here," he said. "Behind the moon."

Rikti felt around it. "Whoa, it's ancient." He pushed. With an agonizing creak, the door gave way and they passed through. Moonlight washed over them, and then the night sky was gone. Suddenly it was morning. They were standing in a meadow dotted with bright flowers and cottages. The land was flat, covered in green grass and barley that swayed in the breeze. A herd of Babaa ambled past. It was the Wide Plains of another era.

Tylix shivered. No matter how warm the sun looked, no matter how calm and prosperous this land had once been, he and Rikti were still standing in a lightless stone cell. The sounds of tumult could still be heard overhead. "We should keep going."

But Rikti paused. "Hey, you see that over there? Looks like Swampedge City. I guess this illusion scene is a ways north of where we are now." He pointed to the horizon. The plains gave way to wetland there, and a dark cluster of shrubbery and rooftops could faintly be seen. "I was born there, you know. Ugly as ever, huh?"

"Ah..." Tylix stared at the distant town nestled in the fens. Without thinking, he spoke. "I've seen it before."

"Really? You've been there? It's a lot bigger nowadays, I'll say that much—“

"I saw it in a dream." He couldn't tear his eyes from it. The curve of the coastline, the murky water, the humming of the Zytches in the reeds: he had seen them too many times to count. "It was on fire."

"Fire?" Rikti paled and went silent for a moment. He was angry, Tylix thought with a twinge of guilt. Or afraid, rather? Then Rikti turned on his heel with a glare. “Listen, there's already been a fire there. The city made it out. _I_ made it out. So I don't wanna hear another word of your doom-and-gloom nonsense."

“'Doom and gloom'?” Tylix repeated, indignant despite himself. Clearly all his explanations from before had sailed clean over Rikti's head. "Never mind. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Sorry, are you? Then why’d you do it at all?” asked Rikti. “Why'd you tell us about those stupid dreams in the first place? I know it wasn't out of friendship or anything. Were you just trying to make things harder for us?”

Tylix looked down. “I... I don't know. It just happened, I suppose.” That was the truth. He'd known nothing good would come of it. But that day in the tower he’d wanted nothing more than to share his burden with them. Maybe it really had been some malicious desire to ruin them, or maybe he'd only been tired of keeping secrets. He couldn't explain it. And now—now he couldn't leave these two alone.

He couldn't tell Rikti any of that, of course. He never knew how to say the right things. Rikti watched him for a moment before turning away with a grunt. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Let's check for another door.”

They began to circle the room, wading through the illusionary grass. It was about the same size as the previous one, but had a low ceiling and rectangular walls. Tylix's mind wandered as he walked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Rikti frowning to himself. With his wild red hair and battered clothes, he really did look like a hero of old. It was hard not to admire him a little. Snatches of melody came unbidden to Tylix's thoughts. _The days and nights pass by like rain..._ How many days and nights had it been since all those beautiful stories had met their end? How many since this ordinary age had begun?

Rikti cleared his throat. “Found it.” He was a few yards away, resting his hand on the invisible wall. Tylix walked up to him awkwardly. Neither of them looked at each other.

Tylix shuffled a bit. “I didn't say this earlier, but thank you for rescuing me. I'd have been trampled by the ghouls up there otherwise.”

“Oh. Yeah, no worries.” Rikti's eyes slid off to the side. “I still owe you one, so...”

Tylix blushed, recalling his escapades in the Institute. Why were Evett and Rikti always bringing that up? “Well, let's get going,” he said at last.

Rikti kicked the door open and strode through. Tylix followed him. The sun, like the moon before it, passed away behind them. They were standing on a sheer white cliff at dusk, staring westward into a dazzling twilight sky. Everything, from the pebbles under Tylix's feet to the ocean rippling out before him, was shaded with hues of calm violet. Turning back, Tylix saw the plains once more. There was no breeze to disturb the thin blades of grass now; they stood upright, basking in dusk's repose. If not for the magic-induced nausea creeping into Tylix's bones, he might have found the scene peaceful.

There was a silhouette on the beach at the foot of the cliff. Tylix bent down and squinted at it, but even with his face an inch away from where it stood, it was too indistinct to make out. That was a strange oversight from the meticulous mage who had created all these illusions. “What do you think that is?” he asked Rikti.

“Beats me,” Rikti replied. “How many more of these rooms are there? I need some fresh air.”

Resigned, they started to look around again. But then, unexpectedly, the silhouette moved. It was two figures: one tall, one short. They stood together and observed the waves. Then, jumping into the water, they began to play and splash about. The tide twinkled dazzlingly around them, orange and purple. It was something Tylix recognized from his days in Littlecliff, though he had never bothered to join in.

_“I wish they could have seen it,”_ said a voice out of the blue. Tylix and Rikti jumped and looked around, but they could see nothing out of place. It was as if the voice was woven into the illusion itself. _“Things might have changed if they had. If the Twelve had only remembered the names of Aelon and Erick—”_

“I heard that voice,” said Rikti suddenly. "When we fell down here.”

“What?” Tylix didn't remember anything of the sort. He must have passed out by that point.

“I can't remember what it said... Ugh, enough of this. Hey!” Rikti raised his voice. “Aelon or whoever you are, come on out! We know you're in here somewhere!”

There was no reply. The figures on the beach went on playing. Over and over they repeated their motions, lost in an endless game.

* * *

How long had the battle raged? Evett had lost track of time amid his scattered thoughts. He still could not make himself stand and run, either toward or away, but at the very least he was inching closer. He was lying on the outskirts of the square near one of the twelve sculptures, which though illusionary served well enough as camouflage. From here he could see the fight more clearly. It was utter chaos. Half the ghouls had fled, but always there were more coming, filling the square with their savage cries. Some were on the floor slashing at the soldiers or the invisible stones; the rest were in the air, locked in a clash with Aelon.

Aelon’s presence alone was imposing. His cloak flapped behind him as he floated, dodging the monsters’ blows with elegance that even Rikti at his best could never have matched. With a flick of his wrist, fierce waves of ice bloomed from the great orb on his staff and sent his opponents crashing to the ground. He never spoke.

The illusionary soldiers were his limbs, in a sense: where he could not reach, he sent them with a mere glance and a twitch of his finger. And there they rushed forward, turning into energy and back again as they set upon the ghouls with their spears. Tough as those creatures’ hides were, even they could not take punishment from this strange intangible force. Back they ran, to be replaced by new and stronger monsters. And so the battle continued without end under the watchful eye of the bell tower, under the moon that shone steadily on.

After a long while the seemingly endless horde began to dwindle. The few that could keep up with Aelon were beaten into submission; the weaker among them fled. Aelon floated above his company and directed the onslaught with flawless composure. Not even a hair on his head seemed out of place. Evett could only wonder what an amazing mage like this was doing out in a desolate plain. Had he been trapped like Xantan? Lost like Korabric? Ancient sorcerers were everywhere, it seemed.

At last only one monster remained, crouching and shivering. Silently Aelon strode forth to meet it. Evett held his breath, unsure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. The outcome seemed all but inevitable.

Until, with a sudden gust of wind, the ghoul raised itself to its full height. A spectral talent rose from it: purple against Aelon’s white, like seeping poison in the snow. The ghoul’s eyes shone with a blazing green light. Some new power was imbued in it now. No, not a new power—the same power that had ruled these monsters all along. The ghoul opened its mouth, and a foreign voice spoke from it.

“Well. That was entertaining, but it is high time I took command.”

Through some infernal magic, Jahbal himself had come. The ghoul raised its hoof and stamped the ground. Magic radiated from it in a pulsing wave.

Aelon took a step back. “So it was you after all,” he said in a low voice. “Though I did not know you had the gift of astral projection.”

Jahbal laughed. “Live and learn, as they say. You have lived more than long enough—did you truly reach immortality? It suits you poorly.”

As strong as Aelon had been, this was something entirely different. It ate away at the earth and even at the very mind. The soil groaned under it; the grass trembled in place. Jahbal’s oppressive might was striking them to the very core. Even Evett, who had never grown up on the fearsome stories that Tylix and Rikti knew, felt a primal fear seize him. It was a sort of awe: a paralyzing dread of Jahbal himself. _This_ was the evil Neopia feared. This was the darkness that had buried Xantan, outlasted the Twelve, engulfed an age, and lived.

In an instant the tide of battle reversed. Jahbal’s ability to manipulate energy, the one Eleus Batrin had spoken of all those days ago, could not be matched. From the defeated monsters’ wounds came faint tendrils of light, the very life force of those servants of his, that flowed into Jahbal’s body. With each one his strength seemed to grow greater. Aelon was quickly driven back to a corner. He strained against the current, but Evett could see it was costing him. His eyes bulged with hate and agony. Behind him, the crowd wavered. The bell tower flickered. The stone columns and the immovable sculptures spasmed on the verge of nonexistence. It was not the slow fading in and out that Evett had seen before; the whole square was quavering like a puddle in a gale. It flickered madly. The buzz of disrupted energy in the air was an insistent whine in Evett’s ears, rising slowly to a scream.

“Enough of the parlor tricks!” hissed Jahbal. The ghoul slashed the air with its hooves. It moved with calculated poise now, an eternity removed from the plain savagery of mere moments before. Aelon crumpled under the gusts of poisonous wind it kicked up. Again and again he withstood the blows from afar. But at last he could take them no longer. He sighed. The buzz was silenced, and Evett flinched as a blinding flash struck his eyes. When he opened them again, his nausea and the heavy atmosphere had dissipated. The beautiful square and the crowd of defenders were gone. The bell tower melted away into a tumbled-down stump with a gaping hole in the center. Only it and the old stones were left to adorn the grass. Rosval’s statue dissipated into one of them, cracked and slumping on the ground.

Evett quickly ducked to stay hidden. He could move now. He _should_ move. But even with the sickness lifting, his limbs shook with the mere effort of rising to his feet. “Get up,” he mumbled. “Come on, get up!”

Jahbal laughed. The sound was a low cackle that filled the air more than Aelon’s magic ever had. “Now, on to the main event. I have you cornered now. Tell me your scheme.” The ghoul stalked forward. It moved slowly, but with every powerful step the stones shook in their places. Evett could see in the trembling of the monster’s limbs that its master was angry, despite the velvet tones of his voice. Aelon had pushed him farther than he had liked. A storm was coming.

Aelon faced him headlong, grimacing but unbowed. It was a long while before he spoke. “You’re joking, right?” he said finally. “Didn’t I say it’s my job to protect this place from intruders? I haven’t seen the waking world in a hundred years, and it would’ve been longer if the cloaking spell hadn’t worn off again! No thanks to _you_.” Through Evett’s rising panic he thought he heard an oddly changed cadence in Aelon’s voice. It was passionate all of a sudden, and flippant, and more than a little undignified. But against Jahbal’s might it was worth little.

“Your lies are as fruitless as your rebellion, Aelon,” sneered Jahbal. “I felt the energy on the plains. I know your mind. Now will you speak, or shall I make you?”

From the ghoul’s hooves came a fountain of darkness. The purple aura of his talent raced over the ground, an endless wave of poison. Aelon retreated until his back was up against the stone that Evett was crouching behind. There was nothing more he could do, not against this.

“I’ll say this much,” he said in a low voice. He was only inches from Evett now. Evett looked up at him wonderingly. Something really was different. “I haven’t done any rebelling. But I wish I had. It would’ve been nice to brag to him about.”

He was out of time. Spectral magic swept ruthlessly over the grass. “None can prevent my return,” spat Jahbal. “Not even you, o wise Archmagus. Speak!” The ghoul opened its mouth and fired a beam of roiling energy. No doubt it was tempered just enough to leave its victim alive. Evett shut his eyes, unable to move, loathing his own powerlessness, as it struck—

But the blast passed right through the Blumaroo’s hunched form. It pierced the great stone behind him and split it open like an egg. Evett, numb with shock, managed to hit the ground just as the shards of rock sailed over his head. The sound was deafening.

Aelon had vanished. From the air came a whisper of a chuckle. The ghoul raised its head and let out a raw howl. Jahbal’s wrath was overflowing. “ _Aelon!_ ” he cried through his hissing breath. “No… not Aelon… he was never so skilled with those illusion games. I’ve been had by a common, pathetic _fool_ —“

The words dissolved into another horrible shriek. The power radiating from the ghoul grew to new heights. It was like a shock that diverted the natural current of all the things of the earth. One stone after another disintegrated into rubble before Evett’s own eyes. Echoing like thunder, the blasts burned up the plain into nothing. The avalanche in Xantan’s cave was a trifle compared to this. And yet, even as the devastation wore on, Aelon did not appear.

Evett sat trembling beneath the heap of rock left by the first stone for a long while, too stunned even to breathe. But then he heard a crunching footstep behind him. With a single blow, his shelter was blown away.

A shadow blotted out the moon. “What have we here?” said a cold voice.

* * *

The twilight sky was disappearing. Everything began to flicker. Tylix gritted his teeth as a fresh headache swept over him. Rikti stifled a moan. "What—what's going on?"

Both of them sank to the ground, wincing. At the same time, they felt an electric current pass through the room. Tylix, opening one eye a crack, caught a final glimpse of the silhouettes on the shore. Turning to look behind, he saw the tranquil plains covered in smoke. Cracks shot through the blighted earth, dislodging clouds of dust that scattered in a sudden gale. The grass bowed to them, turning dry and yellow in an instant. Then, in a flash that seared his eyes and mind, the illusion was gone.

Tylix and Rikti sat dazedly in the corner. They were facing a dark, dingy stone chamber. It was utterly ordinary, if a bit foul-smelling. Nothing moved. Above them the sounds of some great clash were still faintly audible.

“Feel like I’m gonna puke.” Rikti stood unsteadily, grabbing the wall for support. “So that’s it? The illusions are just gone?”

“Erick,” Tylix mumbled. “Those names the voice mentioned. Aelon and Erick… that sounds familiar.”

“You know something?”

“I’m not sure. My head hurts too much.” Tylix massaged his temples and looked around. To his dismay, half a dozen doors looked back. They were all perfectly identical: tall and narrow, made of rusted iron with decorative angular grooves that somewhat resembled jagged spikes. The one Tylix and Rikti had come through stood slightly ajar. Rikti went up to it and stuck his head through the doorway.

“Yep, it’s another normal room,” he reported. “I guess Aelon really is done messing with us… or he’s occupied with the ghouls upstairs.”

It was not a pleasant thought. The stifling atmosphere had lifted, however, and they soon recovered from their bout of sickness. They began to walk through the other rooms. Though their work was going much quicker now, Tylix had to admit he rather preferred the illusions to the empty rooms he saw now. It had been fascinating to see the Old Times preserved in all their glory: they were visions of the past, just as his dreams were visions of the future.

The rooms multiplied endlessly. Every now and then he felt a faint trace of magic, and even caught a flickering glimpse of an illusion—a field here, a sky there—but there was little else to see. He could hardly keep track of where they had been, and with only a few stray moonbeams from high above filtering into the cavern, there was little light to help him. Finally he made a few glowing ice crystals so he and Rikti could at least see where they were going.

“This place is a maze!” complained Rikti. “Who would build something like this? It’s too fancy for a fort and too plain for a castle. Typical Old Times nonsense, just the way you like it.”

Tylix ignored the slight, standing on his tiptoes to examine a row of stone blocks on the wall. They stuck out a bit from the rest, like a rudimentary mantelpiece. A few pottery shards lay beneath. Maybe this had been some kind of display area. Tylix brushed the stones lightly and made a face as dust rained from them.

“Whoa,” said Rikti. “It’s that Canyon script again.”

“Kayannin,” Tylix corrected him tiredly. Holding a palmful of crystals up, he strained to read the thin etchings. Only a few were still discernible. “It says, er… ‘oblations and wishes.’ The rest has all faded away.”

Rikti wrinkled his nose. “Ob-what now?”

“Another word for offerings. Like the sort you give on Earthentide and Solstice, you know? But in the mid-to-late Old Times, they were much more common. Villagers used to give them every month at temples… temples…” Tylix blinked and then slapped himself on the forehead. “I get it! That’s what this is!”

“Huh?”

“It’s the _Ballad of Erick and the Babaa Temple_!” said Tylix excitedly. “You know, the old bedtime story.”

“You can’t be serious.“ Rikti knitted his brows. “What, just because it’s got an Erick? I mean, the story’s about a Cybunny and his friend going around finding lost Babaas. Happy-go-lucky and all that. The whole—” he waved his hand around at their sinister surroundings “— _tone_ is way off.”

“I know it sounds strange, but bear with me,” said Tylix. “There’s an Erick, a temple on the plains, and a powerful mage he’s close with. A few too many similarities, don’t you think?”

“Come on. There’s no way we’re standing in the _Babaa Temple_ right now. Can you imagine? This place and _that_ name?”

“I won’t quibble with an expert like yourself,” said Tylix airily, “but I recall it was also called the Temple of Roo. That’s a bit more fitting.”

Rikti rolled his eyes. “Okay. Sure. So, supposing your theory’s right, this Aelon fellow is actually Erick’s friend, the Archmagus of Roo. Think about that. Remember what happened to the Archmagus in the end?”

Tylix struggled to recall the old tale. “Well, he said goodbye to Erick at some point and left. It depends on the version, but I think in most of them… it ends with him dying.“ Tylix stopped and looked up suddenly, openmouthed. “Wait.”

“Yeah.” Rikti was staring grimly back at him. “See the problem now? Either you're wrong, the story’s wrong, or… something crazy is going on.”

As if on cue, an enormous crash shook the foundations. Bits of dirt and rock fell from the holes in the ceiling. Rikti and Tylix ducked under a doorway for cover. “We have to get up there!” Rikti exclaimed.

Tylix did his best to detach himself and observe. As he watched the room in its labors, a few blocks in the wall facing the makeshift mantlepiece came loose. Only a few, in a handful of locations. The stones there were of a different shape, and not quite as firm as the rest. Once the reverberations finally ceased, he walked up to the wall and examined it.

“It makes sense that the temple would have an entrance across from the oblation jars, I suppose,” he murmured.

“So there’s a way out?” Rikti bounded forth eagerly and wrested a block free with some exertion. They both peered through the gap. There was a hint of moonlight behind it, no doubt, but yet more layers of rock stood in their way.

“Whoever put this here meant business,” said Rikti. “Think you can blast us out, Tylix?”

Tylix figured he could, although it wouldn’t be easy. Inhaling, he placed his paw on the stone and began to focus his energy. Ice sank into the cracks. With a thought he made it bloom, shooting this way and that over the length of the wall. From within he felt a shudder as the stones shifted out of place. Sweat ran down his cheek. The soreness in his bones were coming back to him now.

“Are you okay?” said Rikti anxiously. Tylix gave a grunt in return. What was _he_ so worried about? Then without warning another blast came tearing through the earth. Tylix’s knees tottered with the impact. He saw the loosened stones slide cleanly over the ice and begin to careen forward. To his sluggish mind they seemed to fall in slow motion, but—he couldn’t move. His paws were bound to his talent, pouring his energy into the wall, and it took a supreme effort to pull them back.

“Tylix! Hey!” shouted Rikti.

With a shout Tylix finally wrenched himself away, and the wall collapsed in a pile of rubble and glowing shards right where he had stood. The hum of magic filling the room dissipated abruptly. He let out the breath he had been holding and felt a rush of dizziness overtake him.

Then he saw that Rikti was supporting him on one shoulder, his body tensed as if ready to leap. “You… you were going to jump in front of me, weren’t you?” Tylix said weakly.

“Well, yeah,” Rikti replied, as if it were obvious.

“You shouldn’t.” Tylix sighed. He had to say it, even if he knew there was no point. “Not for me, anyway. I’m not going to repay you or anything, so you’d better save your strength for—“

“Repay me? Are you kidding? You’re really gonna make me say it out loud, aren’t you,” said Rikti, exasperated. “Fine. I’m not _actually_ doing this because I owe you, okay? You ought to know by now that it’s just who I am. We can’t all sit by while the world ends.”

“I—“ Tylix felt color rise in his cheeks. He couldn’t understand it. He didn’t deserve it. He knew he was selfish. In a world full of ignorant simpletons, he was the worst of the lot. He saw his own helplessness every night; he saw _them_ pay the price, lying on the snowy peaks of the Two Rings. Wasn’t that punishment enough? Did he have to sit through these lectures too?

“If I gave up my dream, I wouldn’t be me anymore. You saw my hometown burning, didn’t you? It’s that simple.” Rikti made a face. “Never mind. I guess you wouldn’t get it.”

_It’s the same for me. That’s why I’m like this—_ But Rikti didn’t wait for an answer. With a gentleness that belied his words, he rose and helped Tylix walk toward the exit. The sounds of chaotic battle grew louder. A narrow tunnel lay behind the crumpled wall, sloping gently up to a small trapdoor. For a second Rikti hesitated, his hand hovering on the edge. Then he spoke again. “I’m going up,” he said quietly, as if steeling himself. “I won’t yell at you if you stay behind this time. Actually, you probably should. You’ll be safer here.” Then he glanced away, embarrassed.

It made sense, of course. Tylix had only a vague sense of what was waiting for them on the surface. The best option would be to collect his wits and chart his own course. That was how he had left Margoreth and Denethrir that day outside Tower Gaia; it was how he had rescued Evett and Rikti, when it came time to do so. He could stay here, sheltering in the comfort of the Old Times. A world where everything made sense, where the grand tragedy was already over and done.

But something pressed him onward. He had to see the world that Rikti saw—he had to see everything there was to see, no matter how half-baked. So, reaching out, he took Rikti’s hand. The calluses shocked his scholarly sensibilities for a moment. But underneath them was the warmth of a soul just like his.

Tylix didn’t know if he would ever understand Rikti, or find the right words to say to him. Their minds would never be the same. But this at least they could share. A little courage, a little desperation, a rush of life.

Rikti seemed to feel it too. “You don’t make any sense to me,” he said, smiling. “But sure, why not. Let’s give it our best.”

They climbed out of the temple, and the moonlight, the real moonlight of this prosaic time, bathed them once more.

* * *

“What have we here?” said Jahbal. The ghoul seized Evett by the scruff of his neck and flung him into the center of the square, just past the remnants of the old bell tower. There it prodded him, checking that he was real. “Ah. One of that little band of explorers. What a nuisance.” With a furious clap of its hoof, the ghoul kicked Evett a distance away. “You were quite helpful leading my Corrupted servants to the Temple, I will admit. But now I tire of these interruptions. You're in league with that impostor, are you not?”

Evett struggled to get to his feet, though he knew that putting on a brave face was beyond him. Didn’t Jahbal recognize him? But his reply was cut off by a familiar shout. “There you are!” cried Rikti. Evett caught sight of his two companions racing through the smoke and rubble into the square. There was Rikti, holding his sword up like a firebrand, while Tylix followed behind. Their condition was dismal, to say the least, but somehow they were here. Evett didn’t know what to say to them—how to express his relief or worry or anger. He settled for: “And where’ve you been all this time?”

“Long story!” said Rikti once he and Tylix were next to Evett. “But what’s going on here? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I have,” Evett answered tightly. “His name’s Jahbal.”

“ _What?_ ” Rikti whipped around to face the ghoul.

“So your friends have arrived. All the better.” Jahbal was seething more than ever. The unearthly green glow of his eyes darted to and fro, ever searching for Aelon’s face. “Tell me the truth. You cannot escape me, no matter how many clever tricks you have in your employ. Tell me!”

It was rearing up again; spectral magic seeped from its mouth. Evett knew at once what was coming. Grabbing Rikti and Tylix, he pushed them all to the ground as a powerful beam passed over their heads. Even with all the speed he could muster, he could feel heat graze his ears. No doubt this was only a fraction of Jahbal’s power. His true self, the shadow puppeteering this beast from the faraway Two Rings, was even greater. And it was staring at Evett himself. Evett felt terror seize him more strongly than ever. He could barely find it in him to stand.

But, remembering his home, he did. “Get behind me!” he yelled. Another blast was coming—or rather, another dozen of them, ready to tear this place down to its very foundations. Evett had barely enough time to pull his staff from his bag. Biting his lip, he stretched out his paws and let his magic flow into it. Though it was a bit sluggish after hours of nausea, there was plenty to spare. Fire sprouted from the gem, like an unruly flower. It caught the beam from Jahbal’s mouth head-on. Evett dug his back paws into the earth as the force shot through him.

Behind him, Rikti was moving. _Oh, not again!_ thought Evett. But the mad dash and shouts he’d come to expect failed to materialize. Instead Rikti slowly began to back away out of sight. Tylix was doing the same. What were they up to? Evett knew them better than to think they (well, Rikti at least) were retreating.

He gritted his teeth and focused. Sweat clung to him. He was still holding off Jahbal for now, though barely. It was sheer inertia that kept him going—hurtling forward, falling facefirst. Then he saw Rikti and Tylix again. They had made a wide circle around Jahbal in the darkness, and now they were creeping up on him from behind. Evett could only faintly see them over the burning of his talent.

The moment came. Rikti slashed the ghoul’s back with its sword. Tylix pelted it with ice from his slingshot. Jahbal growled, his attention diverted. Evett gasped as the force pushing him back vanished. He shot forward. This was his chance.

But the window was too small, and Evett too slow. His flames, suddenly deprived of an adversary, burned out of control as he raced toward Jahbal; but even as he ran, the ghoul let out a screech and swept the ground with its matted tail. Sparks flew. Both Rikti and Tylix managed to dodge the worst of it, but they were hit head-on. The sound was terrifying.

Evett stifled a cry. The fire was burning brighter and brighter. It was too much. He couldn’t pull it back. _Stop, stop, stop—_ His arms shook. The orb on his staff cracked once, twice. Then, as Evett held his breath, it shattered. The flames vanished into the night.

In the silence, the ghoul grinned. “So much for that,” hissed Jahbal. “Did you really think you stood a chance? I defeated the Twelve. Xantan was nothing before me. Rosval succumbed without a whimper. The age of strength is long gone!” But he was straining to speak. Evett could see the green light wavering. “I have no time for this. Where is that false Archmagus?!”

Behind him, Tylix was getting to his feet. He was crawling over to Rikti, covering him as best he could. Evett blinked slowly, thinking he’d gotten the positions wrong, but no—Tylix really was in front. It was a relief to see they were all right, at least. This moment had to be Evett’s alone. Turning back to Jahbal, he retrieved his staff and held it out shakily. Without the orb, it looked like a toy. He tightened his grip, trying to tamp down his fear. He had to stay calm. This was his chance. Finally, finally, he could get the answers he had been searching for. That was more important than anything else. “I don’t have anything to do with Aelon,” he said. “I only came here to look for him. For my own quest. You know why, don’t you? You know me!”

But Jahbal only snorted and looked him over once more without recognition. “The wanderings of insignificant peasants hardly concern me. All I need from them is their adulation.” In a flash he closed in on Evett. “If you really are so determined to oppose the true ruler of Neopia, then fall.” Energy oozed out of the air and the earth into his ghoul’s foul body. The ground itself was a poison. The grass everywhere was withering under its touch. A slew of cracks crisscrossed it, shooting towards Evett.

Evett was frozen, rooted where he stood. _Jahbal doesn’t know. He didn’t take me back in time. Then—then—who?_ The blow hit him square in the chest. A shudder passed over his whole frame. Then the pain hit, and his knees buckled. He hit the ground and felt its pestilence infecting him. His power was being siphoned away from him, as surely as the grass and the rocks, into the waiting arms of a sinister king.

“So passes another worthless traitor,” laughed Jahbal. The ghoul bent over Evett, pinning him. “Do you see now how futile your efforts are? All Neopia’s energy is rightfully mine. No matter how it rebels, it always returns to its lord. And with it—with it, I shall reclaim my title.”

_Jahbal doesn’t know._ The thought repeated over and over again. Evett could faintly see a thin trail of orange threads in the wind, flowing away from his heart. So that was his magic. He’d failed, hadn’t he? He would never see Neopia Central again, never look upon those city lights from the comfort of his tiny room. It had all been for nothing.

“Not enough… not enough…” Jahbal muttered to himself. He clutched at the threads, grabbing whatever nourishment he could from them. The green light was waning. Evett seized that sliver of hope. Maybe he could just stall for a little while, just long enough for Jahbal’s astral projection or whatever it was to wear out—but what was the point? Why bother, here at the end?

“Rightfully yours?” A quavering voice spoke up. Rikti’s, probably, though Evett was finding it difficult to hear things. “What about the monster attacks? Harvesting our energy, razing our homes to the ground—keeping us down for a thousand years! Is that rightfully yours too?”

“Of course,” Jahbal snarled. “Neopia’s very soul belongs to me. Was it not I who nurtured it to its greatest heights? I thought it would welcome this chance to regain its old glory. But it seems you all are too slow-witted to see what passes before your very eyes.”

He raised Evett into the air with some spell of his. Evett’s head swam and his legs kicked uselessly in the dry breeze, but he could still see Rikti and Tylix below. Something in their faces shone through his hazy vision, even after a night’s worth of beatings. There was Rikti, shouting as he lay half-buried in the dirt; there was Tylix shielding him with everything he could, his eyes full of terror and unspoken hope.

The battle in the Institute, the conversation under the stars, the songs and stories… these two Neopets Evett had met by chance were somehow precious to him. He wanted more than anything for them, at least, to make it out alive. He wanted it so intensely, all of a sudden, that it surprised him.

“Is something wrong?” asked Jahbal archly. The spell binding him tightened to a sharp point. Evett felt another bout of nausea. He gasped for air. The ghoul was rising to meet him, flapping its wings slowly. “You low, ungrateful creature,” Jahbal said. “Even now you resist death. What are you?”

That question again. Evett didn’t have an answer anymore. He saw Rikti shake off Tylix’s grasp and run half-crazed at Jahbal. Tylix stared openmouthed. The words were so distant, but they rang out in Evett’s mind: “Don’t you dare touch him!”

_No, no, don’t come this way._ Evett saw spots. All he could do was hold out as long as he could, hoping for a miracle. It wasn’t fair. They should have been safe. _Why can’t Neopia ever be saved?_

Then the miracle came.

An array of colorful light struck his tired eyes. The whole sky shone with them, like the flashbulbs of a thousand cameras going off. A swirling pattern moved in from every direction. The nausea Evett had felt gripped him in full force, made worse by his induced levitation. This was undoubtedly an illusion, bigger and more intolerable than ever before. But even the agony was a relief.

“Amazing what a little rest can do,” remarked a familiar voice. “I may not be able to match you in combat, but in this niche of mine I can confidently say I won’t be beat.”

There was no attempt at form. The illusion was simply a mass of color that bewildered the eye. Tylix and Rikti doubled over. Even Jahbal looked ill at ease. The kaleidoscope surrounded the ghoul, spinning more and more urgently, the magic growing to a sickening weight. At last the green glow flagged, and the ghoul seemed to stumble. It raised its legs clumsily to shield its face. Evett fell to the ground, gasping.

“So this is your great scheme?” he shouted. “You mockery of a mage. This will not defeat me!”

“Of course it won’t. But you’re running out of energy, aren’t you? You’ll have to go back soon. Isn’t it a bit embarrassing to say you used up a whole projection on a couple of commoners?” The colors rotated into new and bizarre formations. The ground tilted wildly. Evett clamped down on his lip to keep himself from heaving. Even lying flat on his stomach, the pressure weighing down on him was like a block of lead.

The ghoul looked around wildly. “So _this_ is the Archmagus I fought?” Jahbal growled contemptuously. “Nothing more than stale deceptions, I see. How despicable.” He spat, and even that seemed to curse the scourged earth still further. But he stumbled even as he moved. His power was waning quickly.

“Well, I did keep your beasts on their toes for a while.” A ghostly chuckle echoed. “But you’re right. There’s nothing special to see here. Now will you get going already?”

The ghoul snarled and struggled to resist the overpowering magic. It made a few halfhearted swipes at the air, only to come up empty. There was no force left in its motions. “…What a waste of time,” sneered Jahbal. “A trickster and three useless vagabonds. Hardly enough power to light a chandelier. Yes, I was misled. The enemy is elsewhere. One of the Twelve, surely… heh.”

The ghoul raised itself to its full height. Against the dizzying background of colors, it was a silhouette of pure blackness. “Know this, mages,” he said in a deep voice. “The true battle is still at hand. I am preparing a great work. Once my servants have gathered this land’s energy to me, your feeble resistance will come to nothing. Then, if you truly wish to challenge me in my own body at my full strength, you know where to find me.” The ghoul’s jaws parted in a ghastly rictus of glee. “You may prove quite the fascinating diversion.”

The green light went out. With it went the oppressive presence that had choked the life from the air. The ghoul collapsed into a shivering crouch. For a second there was a frightened silence. Then the false Aelon cleared his throat. “That’s that, I suppose,” he said flatly. The illusion disappeared.

Evett squinted as his eyes adjusted. The moon had gone behind a cloud, and it was so dark now that he could see little more than faint shadows. Rikti swung his sword at the ghoul, and with a thin cry it took flight. The flapping wings echoed once, twice, and then faded away southward.

How much time had passed? Surely he couldn’t have fought Jahbal for more than a few minutes. He contemplated the possibility of doing it again—no, the _inevitability_ , if he continued on this path. And what for? There wasn’t any point, not if Jahbal wasn’t the reason he was here. It was too much to bear. He didn’t know why he had ever thought himself capable of this.

He let out the breath he had been holding. He was awfully light-headed, and the world seemed less than solid. Someone caught him as he fell. It was Tylix.

“Can you hear me?” Tylix asked in a soft voice, far removed from its usual coolness. “You did well. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Evett said, mumbling his words a bit. “Didn’t do much, really. I’m stuck here, you know. I’m stuck.”

“Aren’t we all?” said Tylix.

Evett looked up at him dimly. There he was, his brows knit as he held Evett’s head in his lap. Rikti was there too, saying something he couldn’t hear. They were both peering down at him, framed by the pure night sky overhead. The odor of acid and smoke was terrible. Again he tried to think of his home, of his own Neopia Central. Again he came up empty.

_What’s happening to me? What’s happening to Neopia? What are we even fighting for?_

“What do I do now?” Evett muttered. He couldn’t understand. But that was typical. His very first memory was one of aimless uncertainty. He’d come from nothing, and now he was nothing again. With that gloomy reminder echoing in his thoughts, he fell asleep at last.

* * *

Tylix rubbed his eyes. He was beginning to get used to uncomfortable awakenings. This time he was lying awkwardly on his side atop a small mound of debris. He couldn’t remember falling asleep; after the battle (if it could be called a battle) he must have drifted off from sheer exhaustion. It hadn’t done much good. There was a nasty crick in his neck, and his bruises were multiplying. At least he hadn’t had another vision.

Sitting up blearily, he was greeted by a cloudy sky. It was an expectedly gloomy morning on the Wide Plains. The scent of spectral magic still clung to the air, and all the grass for half a mile around had been reduced to ashes. The standing stones were all toppled. Nothing was left but cracked, discolored soil. So this was what the famed Babaa Temple had become. This was the legend eaten by fate.

Rikti lay snoring at the foot of the mound. Evett was sleeping a few feet away, propped up on a stone structure that looked something like a collapsed tower. There was a large hole on the opposite side. _Ah. So that’s what Rikti and I fell through._ Like everything else, it seemed dismally ordinary without the mystical shroud of night and illusions. He got up and peered into it. The bottom could not be seen.

Then Tylix noticed someone sitting cross-legged on the outskirts of the ruins some distance away. It was a ragged-looking white Cybunny. Hunched and unmoving, he stared at the western horizon like a solemn guardian. The old stones were strewn around him. As the wind blew his purple mane about, Tylix was suddenly reminded of the third illusion he had seen. _Remember the names… Aelon and Erick…_ There was no mistaking that small silhouette, frail though it seemed now. It was hard to believe he and the gallivanting adventurer of the old ballad were one and the same.

As Tylix approached, Erick gave him a gruff nod. He seemed to know what Tylix was about to say. But as he turned back to the horizon, he made no attempt to say anything himself. There was an almost vacant look on his face.

“Was it you we heard in the temple last night?” asked Tylix at last.

The wind died down slowly, leaving a silence that seemed to expand until it filled the whole desolate scene. For a while Erick sat there and seemed to absorb it. His expression never changed.

“What do you know about illusion magic?” he said.

“Huh?” Tylix paused to collect himself. “Um… not much. It’s a rare art. Only scholars who specialize in it have the time to study all the materials.”

Erick snorted. “Is that so… used to be every apprentice worth his salt picked it up in a month. But then, they _did_ always say I had a special gift for it.” His features softened a little. “Illusions are just drops of energy given shape. But I always put my heart into them. I draw them from my soul."

“Your soul…” Tylix murmured.

The Cybunny held out his paw. A tiny picture appeared in it: a single yellow-petaled flower. It was startlingly true, down to the very veins of its little leaves. “No matter how big or small, my illusions are a piece of me. They harbor my desires, share my thoughts. How else could they imitate life? There’s no point to them if they don’t recall something to you—memory, imagination… even regrets. You understand, don’t you? They speak with my voice.”

_Remember the names…_

Tylix looked down. Other Neopets had always been enigmas to him. They were predictable and yet unknowable. Even his eyes piercing the veil of time could not pass that barrier. But now he _had_ passed it. He had seen into Erick’s soul. The feeling sparked an uncharacteristic curiosity in him. “What was your regret?” said Tylix quietly.

Again Erick said nothing. Then, flicking his finger, he conjured up an image of a slender Blumaroo with a long cloak: the other half of that pair of silhouettes.

“Welcome to the Temple of Roo,” said illusion-Aelon in a booming voice. “I am the Archmagus. I must say, child, your unusual skill has caught my eye… pffft. Sorry! I can’t do the voice for long in private.” The Blumaroo grinned sheepishly. “My name's Aelon. What’s yours?”

The illusion stopped there, frozen. Erick stared fixedly at it. “It began that way. He was the young new leader of the temple; I came there as an acolyte, and we became friends. He was always kind to me, idiot though I was. I went with him whenever he toured the countryside. The plains were fertile then, you see, and he was always traveling around helping the farmers and Babaa herders.”

He made another gesture, and Tylix saw Aelon walking alongside another, rounder-faced Erick. They walked side by side, bending their heads together in silent laughter. Tylix could feel the energy of youth sparkling around them. Then Aelon turned and waved to another figure: a sprightly red Buzz with a short-cropped black beard. “His closest friend, though, was Lord Korabric of the Institute,” said Erick. “They were both accomplished mages with enormous egos, so of course they got along well. When the times got more dangerous, it was Korabric’s influence that kept our doors open. And so it went for quite a while. Then… then Jahbal made his war on the Twelve.”

Years passed in the blink of an eye. Aelon and Erick, older and taller, raced over the fields. Bright banners bobbed up around them in a raging sea of soldiers. And there was Korabric again, his face hidden in shadow, retreating away out of sight.

“Well, what is there to say? Aelon's dear friend betrayed us. The north was ravaged, and the Twelve—well, the Ten by that point, I suppose—fell back to the plains. Our temple became their fortress; I kept it hidden with my power. The battles were awful. Jahbal’s magic withered the fields, poisoned the rivers. All the acolytes fled. And can you blame them? They had families and farms to tend to. They never wished for war.”

Tylix recalled the smoke and dust that had blanketed the earth in the third illusion. He thought of Jahbal’s curse, still lingering faintly in the world even now.

“Eventually the Twelve retreated again, this time to the Valley of Song. To Kal Panning, the capital. I’m sure you know it.”

Tylix nodded slowly. He felt cold. The Ghost City… it was jarring to hear its true name spoken so casually. “They left you and Aelon here?”

“Of course they did. They never concerned themselves with the likes of us. So Aelon and I waited here in the wasteland. We waited for a very long while.”

There were Aelon and Erick again. Time had worn down their shoulders and beaten wrinkles into their faces. They were sitting outside, nibbling at a meager supper. A few straggling soldiers trudged past. The wind picked up, and dry dust blew about. Erick got up and tugged at Aelon’s ear. But the Archmagus sat still, his cloak wrapped around him, searching endlessly for movement on the horizon.

“I was all right as long as I had him for company, but he couldn’t bear it. He missed the faces of his friends and allies. The slow drip of news devastated him… And then, finally, he left. To join the war effort, he said. But I think he wanted to see Korabric most. He hadn’t given up hope yet, the fool.”

Tylix saw Aelon one last time, standing on an illusionary shore. Time had worn down his shoulders and the dazzling twilight covered him in somber hues, but he seemed almost cheerful. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him. “You have to stay. Go back to the temple, and look after it for me while I’m gone. Once the Twelve triumph, this will all be over. I’m sure of it.”

Illusion-Erick clutched Aelon’s hand desperately. “How? The supply lines were cut ages ago. We’re almost out of food. I’m just a normal mage, you know—I certainly can’t go a month without water like you can.”

“Don’t worry, Erick. I drew up a circle for you.” He pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket and handed it over. For a moment his voice took on its low resonance again. “Cast this spell, and you will fall into a deep sleep. Age and its cares shall not touch you. Only when a visitor sets foot on the temple ground, or disturbs it with magic, will you awaken.” Bending down, he embraced Erick. “That’s how it is. So wait for me, alright? Wait for Lord Korabric and the Twelve. No matter how long it takes, we’ll be back. Jahbal won’t ever defeat us.”

“But I—I want to be with _you_. You said you’d protect me!”

Aelon shook his head, and for the first time a twinge of sadness crossed his face. “We all have to follow the paths laid out for us. That’s where the future lies.” He gently pried Erick’s hand off his. “Don’t you agree?”

“Are you going to guilt me into this?” Erick's shoulders slumped. “Fine. I’ll watch the temple as long as you want. But let’s just… enjoy ourselves for now. Let’s play for a bit, like old times. Then I’ll let you go.”

Aelon smiled. “Fair trade. But take pity on my joints, will you?” He jumped up with a mock roar and tackled Erick into the water. Erick immediately splashed him in the face. They bounded about the shore, laughing and chasing each other.

The scene froze again, capturing the duo in the middle of a wrestling bout. Drops of water hung about them in the air like jewels; the dimming sunset washed over them. A fragment of happiness.

“After that he sailed away, and I returned east to the temple,” said the real Erick. “I blocked the doors and put some illusions in the rooms to fill the empty space—a few good memories. You saw those, didn’t you? Then I put myself to sleep, just as he told me to do. And the next time I woke up, two hundred years had passed.”

A long silence.

“Some wayfarers had stumbled into the temple. Nothing more. I sent them off, naturally, but before that I had them tell me what had happened. The final battle at Kal Panning…” He paused. It seemed he wasn’t willing to broach the topic after all. “I slept again after that. I’ve woken a few times since then. The illusions amuse me in my dreams, so I’m never bored. And that’s it. That’s the whole story.” His voice was hollow.

“You never thought of leaving?” asked Tylix.

“Where would I go?” said Erick hopelessly. “What is there left for me that hasn’t burned away? I promised I’d wait for him. I’m not like you wanderers. I’ve got no path to follow, no desire to guide me. All I ever wanted was—was—“ He trailed off. All this time his gaze had been on that illusionary beach, that solitary moment of bliss. Suddenly he sniffed and wiped his cheek. “Anyway, you wanted to know my regret. Now you know.”

Tylix averted his eyes politely. After a while he spoke. “Korabric sent us here,” he said. “He did turn over a new leaf, in the end. He told us to find his old friend, someone who could help us defeat Jahbal. That was the quest he laid upon us.” _Excepting me_ , he added to himself. “I thought you might like to know that.”

“Well, I’ll be. So he remembered Aelon after all. If only he hadn’t been a thousand years late.” Erick chuckled a little to himself. They sat quietly for a moment longer. Only a few hitched sobs disturbed the sound of the breeze.

The illusion disintegrated slowly, and finally Erick wrenched his gaze from the horizon. He turned to Tylix for the first time. Though even his bodily age was well beyond Tylix’s, there was something crushingly innocent about his face. “I’m crazy, aren’t I? I know. A silly promise like that…”

_If I gave up my dream, I wouldn’t be me anymore._ Tylix remembered those words again. He remembered his own wavering self, poised on the border between reality and unreality. “I understand,” said Tylix. “It’s not always easy. To—to change. To put aside the memories.”

Erick looked at him with something resembling compassion. “For you, it’s possible. You’re not stuck in your ways like us bygones. We were alive once, fighting some grand war, but now we just chase our own shadows. Even Jahbal. There’s no meaning to any of it anymore.”

So this was what it felt like to march toward the end, trapped in the shadow of a brilliant past. Tylix watched as Erick stood up and walked haltingly toward the fallen stone tower. At the last second, with his foot on the lip of the yawning hole in its side, he turned back. His eyes traveled over the ruined soil, then beyond it to the waves of grass surrounding the temple. “Last I saw it, the whole plain was still a desert. I suppose even Jahbal’s spells won’t last forever.” He hesitated. “I heard… I heard once that there was a song about Aelon and me. Is that true?”

“Yes. Er, the _Ballad of Erick and the Babaa Temple_ ,” Tylix answered dutifully. The familiar words seemed to fall dead in the air. It seemed the more he traveled, the less he knew.

“I see. Some acolyte must have started a legend about me. I can’t say I’m too pleased.” He turned away, facing the pit. “The land is healing, now that it’s forgotten the past. Let everything else forget it too. Once Jahbal and I and all these other useless ghosts vanish from the earth, once all our grudges are finally put to rest... maybe time will move in Neopia again.“

Tylix shifted. “I wouldn’t want to forget the Old Times.”

“They don’t deserve you. The great never deserve the small.” Erick sighed and covered his face. For a moment he stood there, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me. I’m weak, you know. All I can do is make illusions.”

A long pause followed, and a slow series of breaths. “That’s all,” said Erick. “You got Korabric’s blessing, it sounds like, and now you have mine. Do what you need to. Maybe when this is all over I’ll see Aelon again. One way or another.”

He stepped over the edge and glided gracefully down. In an instant he was out of sight. Tylix came up to the hole. It was still impenetrably dark below. He still had one more question, despite himself. _Do you really think you will?_ But he knew better than to ask it.

A wan ray of sunlight limped over the blasted temple. The grass swayed mournfully. Tylix sat down and leaned on the tower. He felt more numb than usual. He had seen the face of destruction the night before; he had seen hope and valor. They were too much to reconcile. How did Rikti manage to care about so much all the time? How did anyone?

He realized that Evett and Rikti were awake. For how long, he didn’t know. They were both staring at him blankly. Here they were, all three of them, trapped between painful forgetting and painful remembering. Dreams and duty… whatever paths they followed, whatever desires took them from place to place, there was nothing to guide them now.


	7. A Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one are combined in the NT version.

_Whoa, what a creepy cave._

_Hey, mister, we’re sorry for bothering you._

“I need to leave. Please, please, I need to leave.”

Why was he thinking of this again? He didn’t want to. He had put it away, somewhere safe.

_Don’t worry. It’ll be okay._

_You can change. You can change. You can change…_

He had cast aside the past. He had made his choice. That was how it should have been. But the river was rushing on, and the music of the World carried him back to the beginning.

* * *

“So how was your little talk with Erick?” asked Rikti.

The morning was wearing on. Evett looked around at his dispirited companions, all gnawing on an an unpleasant breakfast. The memory of Jahbal’s sneer was still fresh in all their minds.

Tylix shrugged. “For a legendary hero, there wasn’t much to him.” Though he said it with his usual coolness, his face had a grim cast.

“Legendary hero?” Evett repeated. “Wait, you mean the story Rikti talked about before? The… the Babaa thing?”

“Yup. To think that was the real guy… I wish I’d talked to him myself. For all we know he’s dead now.” Rikti scratched his head. “Time sure has a way of changing things.” He trailed off, but no one had anything more to add. The atmosphere descended once again into gloomy silence.

Evett reached into his bag for water. It seemed oddly cluttered, as if the space inside it was shrinking, and it made a hollow sound when he shook it. Surely his bag couldn’t be losing its enchantment already… or so he thought, but then he remembered all the illusions he’d waded through yesterday. There had been enough energy in the air to make him sick; it was no surprise his bag hadn’t been able to take it.

Evett made a face as the thought of all the nausea came back to him. He still felt a tiny bit ill. For some reason the illusion magic had had a worse effect on him than Rikti and Tylix. He paused for a moment, thinking about the differences between past and future magic. Perhaps the two worlds weren’t meant to intertwine. No, not ‘perhaps’. He was living proof of it.

Rikti spoke again in a lower voice. “Evett. What did you think of last night?”

“Huh?” Evett forced himself to focus. “Why me?”

“Uh, isn’t it obvious? You were the only one who could actually face him. Not even Erick could.”

It hadn’t felt like it at the time. Then again, Evett could hardly remember what had actually happened. “Well… I don’t know him like you all do. But he was definitely strong. I doubt he ever saw me as anything more than annoying. Honestly, I have no idea what could stop him.”

He expected Rikti to blow up at him, but instead the Korbat just stared at the ground. The vaguely disconsolate air that had hung about him ever since Tower Gaia looked more pronounced than ever. “You’re the strongest out of us three, so, uh, depending on what happens… what you decide, I mean…”

He left the rest unsaid. Finally Tylix cleared his throat. “He’s asking if you want to go on, now that we know Jahbal has nothing to do with your being here. If you bow out, he’ll probably have to give up on going after Jahbal—though, knowing Rikti, he’ll go on hacking away at monsters anyway. Am I wrong?”

“Tylix!” Rikti sputtered. “You didn’t have to say it like that. But… yeah, that’s the gist.” He rubbed his neck, shooting furtive glances at Evett. He looked almost timid.

Ah. That. Evett wished he had a choice in the matter. Where would he go if he turned away? What would he do? What would he become? There was no path for him, nothing to animate his limbs. He would only watch, hopeless and powerless, as Rikti and Tylix went on their merry way. Anything was preferable to that existence. Even now, as low as he was, he could at least reach out and touch them. He had something to wish for.

“What are you so worried about?” he laughed with a careless shrug. “I wouldn’t just drop out. I’m not that mean. Even if Jahbal doesn’t recognize me, I’m sure I’ll find something out if I keep tagging along.”

“Really?” said Rikti. “Glad to hear it. And… thanks.” Though he did his best to smile, it seemed all he could manage was a heavy sigh. “Now if only we knew where to go next—Korabric’s tip didn’t exactly pan out. I’d settle for just finding another monster lair.”

“Why not Sunnytown?” said Tylix. “My home, and the home of the Guild of Scholars. It’s just south of the plains. With all the historical archives and magical supplies there, I’m sure you could find something useful.” He hesitated. “It’s also the nearest city to the Valley of Song. That’s where the Two Rings and the Ghost City are. If you felt up to challenging Jahbal himself, you could go there.”

Rikti paled, though he did his best to hide it. “We’ll… we’ll talk about that later. The Ghost City’s got nothing to do with it anyway.” Evett wondered what that was about. “But Sunnytown sounds good. Evett needs a new orb-thingy, I could use some new gear, and Tylix might dig out some lore tidbits for us. Oh, and I hear it’s great this time of year.”

“Good. Let’s get going. We probably have four days’ travel ahead of us, if not more,” said Tylix, downing a gulp of water. “I’ve got work of my own to do in the archives, by the way. I’m not doing this just for you.”

“I know,” said Rikti. He bent over the leftovers and began packing them up. Something in his posture looked deflated. Tylix turned away, a little self-consciously.

“Are you okay?” asked Evett quietly. “I know it’s a lot—Jahbal and everything—”

“Who cares about Jahbal?” Rikti replied. “At least with him I have something to aim for. It’s everything else that’s slipping away. Even the monsters… how am I supposed to go on fighting them, knowing what they are?” He looked at his palms helplessly. “You should’ve left after all. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“I don’t either. Nobody does. We’re all stumbling blind, except maybe Tylix. All we can do is keep pushing.” Evett pasted on an encouraging smile.

“Ha. Sounds like something I’d say.” Rikti strapped on his pack and folded his arms, striking a pose. “Okay, here we go.”

For a moment they stood, surveying the wreckage of the temple. Evett remembered the brilliant illusion with its tower, its statues, that ineffable grandeur. Gone now, as surely as the burning courtyard. Rosval in all his invincible majesty had been nothing but a flight of fancy in the end. Evett wondered how many more times he would be faced with these sights.

Beside him, Rikti’s face was scrunched up with some inscrutable emotion. He looked nothing like the self-important adventurer Evett had met all those days ago. And Tylix was already walking ahead, wrapping his cloak around him in the wind. Evett wondered what they had seen in the temple. He wasn’t part of this world; there were depths to it that he would never understand.

Finally, tearing themselves from the ruin, they plodded away. Not far off they found a small creek winding south. Thin and muddy though the water was, it was a welcome addition to their canteens. “I didn’t know there were rivers here,” said Evett. “Thought it was too dry for that.”

“Erick said things would get better here,” Tylix remarked distantly. “Maybe this was what he was talking about.”

They had water now, at least. But as the time stretched on, their cares and fears seemed only to multiply. And through all of them, Evett’s mind returned again and again to his fading memories of home. The illusion magic had made the situation worse, no doubt, but it had been happening since the beginning. Only the bad things were left… it was like everything was conspiring to shut him away.

On the third afternoon since the departure from the Temple of Roo, his bag finally broke down for good. The last of the knickknacks he’d stored in it tumbled out and landed in a heap on the grass. Grumbling, Evett crouched down to sift through the junk. He would have to leave most of it behind. Not that any of it had much value, even sentimental value, but—he still felt somehow that he had betrayed a little part of himself.

“Poor bag,” said Rikti. “It was useful while it lasted.” He peered over Evett’s shoulder, admiring the strange objects from a time he’d never known. “Hey, Tylix, whaddya think of this book? _Ice Cream Machine Game Guide_. Looks neat, huh? So many colors.”

“What’s ice cream? And how would you play a game with it?” Tylix squinted at the diagrams, which no doubt looked quite unfamiliar, before giving the other objects a curious once-over. Evett could practically see the gears turning. “Are these the sorts of things you do in the future? I was never curious before, but I have to admit it’s intriguing.”

“It’s not that exciting of a place,” said Evett. “That’s why I liked it, you know.” He couldn’t bear to talk about it anymore. Shoving the important things back into his (now quite ordinary) bag, he set off. If he was going to leave everything behind, he wanted to do it all at once.

“Wait up!” said Rikti. “Don’t get your trousers in a twist, alright? Can you at least tell us a little bit about your life? Something fun. I think we could all use a break right now. How about a story?”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Tylix chimed in. There was an odd shape sticking out of his pack. Evidently he’d nicked the _Ice Cream Machine Game Guide_ for himself. Rikti’s pockets had a rather suspicious weight to them too, for that matter.

Evett sighed. They really were kids. He couldn’t find it in him to be upset, despite himself. “A story, huh? Maybe next time.” Next time, sometime, whenever his memories came back. Whenever things went back to normal again.

They went on south, wading through the endless sea of grass.

* * *

“So about this Ghost City?” said Evett one night. “You both know something, don’t you?”

 _Great._ Rikti made a face. He’d been enjoying his supper, or at least tolerating it, but this was something of an intrusion. “No one really knows that much, beyond stories.”

“Come on. If we’re going that way, I’d better at least have a clue what I’m getting myself into.”

“Uh, well, you know,” grunted Rikti. He gave Tylix a pleading look, but the Kacheek was pointedly ignoring him. Typical. “It’s southeast of here, in the Valley of Song. A fancy city on top of a lake, according to the stories. It used to be the capital of Neopia in the Old Times.”

“A city on a lake…” Evett looked up, interested. “I saw a picture like that in Tower Gaia. What was the name… Kal Panning, I think?”

Rikti winced. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the name sounded even more deadly than usual. “Could you be any louder? But yeah, that’s the name. At the end of the great wars, it was the last holdout against Jahbal. So Jahbal launched a surprise attack, and… I mean it when I say no one knows what happened. But Jahbal was vanquished there, and so were all the defenders. The city’s cursed now.”

He stopped, having explained the legend as quickly as he could. There was nothing more to say. It was unsettling enough just thinking about that place.

“That’s how Jahbal was defeated before?” said Evett. “Not in battle or whatever, but by some kind of weird plague. Are we sure this story is on the level?”

 _I sure hope not,_ thought Rikti, sneaking another look at Tylix. But their resident scholar gave a reluctant nod. “It’s credible, more or less,” he said. “And no other end for Jahbal really makes sense. He was powerful enough to terrorize the whole continent on his own, after all. Who could have bested him in combat?”

“Figures.” Evett crossed his arms. “But maybe if we figure out what beat him, we can do it again.”

His suggestion was met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” said Rikti. “This is a _curse_ we’re talking about, Evett. I wouldn’t call that a strategy.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Rikti,” said Tylix. “But… even so, the final battle might be a clue. There are plenty of obscure records in the Guild’s archives. You could find something about it there.”

“ _You_ could,” Rikti grumbled. The reminder of their quest was decidedly unwelcome. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. Evett was depending on him for direction, and he was failing at every step. He wanted to protect Evett somehow—send him safely home, free to forget all this nonsense about curses and ghosts. After all, what did Evett care about any of it? Let his play his ice cream games and rack up his coin collection. Let him go back to that ordinary future. It was what he deserved.

Days passed as they trudged southward. Slowly the air changed. Then, at long last, they spotted a dark and bumpy blur on the horizon. It didn’t look like much, but Tylix’s morose face lit up instantly.

“See that?” he said. “We made it! There’s Sunnytown!” His eyes were gleaming. “See, there’s the Guild. And the Council Hall… oh, and you can just make out Minna’s Column…”

Good old Tylix and his moods. But even so, Rikti himself couldn’t help but feel relieved. It was nice to have something on his mind beyond endless worrying. That kind of thing wasn’t his forte and he knew it. And if _Tylix_ could muster some cheer, why couldn’t he? He quickened his pace.

Even with all the quickening the three of them could manage, it took them until the next morning to reach the creek’s mouth. Standing in the reeds, they watched the waters drain into a wide river: the famed century-old canal that cut across Neopia at its narrowest point. It was the greatest marvel of Neopia since the Old Times—even Rikti knew about it, though mostly from overhearing his brother’s rambles. Depending on the schedule dictated by Sunnytown’s council and the Guild of Scholars’ mages, the water flowed either northeast to the Summer Sea or southwest to the great ocean. Today it seemed to be the latter, and a series of boats were making their unhurried way down to the city and thence to the western coast.

The grass was greener here, and the wind fresher. Rikti and his friends walked along the banks of the canal, catching glimpses of real Neopians for the first time in a long while. They reached the long, low wall of Sunnytown by noon. Boats and wagons alike were lined up before the gate, waiting their turn for questioning. Both queues were on the long side. “They certainly take their time,” commented Tylix. “I suppose security is tighter these days.”

After half an hour, they made it to the gatehouse. Standing by it was a stocky Draik in the red-and-silver colors of the city. “And what’s your business here?” he said, looking them up and down. His eyes rested with some displeasure on their weather-beaten clothes and weapons. “If you’re ruffians, you’d best leave now.”

“We’re no ruffians,” Rikti said hurriedly, trying to push his scabbard into the folds of his cloak. “Look, we’re—uh—visiting scholars!”

“What?” said the guard.

“What?” said Evett and Tylix.

Rummaging in his pack, Rikti proudly pulled out the lengthy contract that a certain excitable Bruce had drawn up days earlier. “See? Says it right here. This fine Lupe and I are conducting a joint project on, um… the soil quality of the Wide Plains. Tylix here is our temporary apprentice on loan from the _famed_ Denethrir himself. Aren’t you, Tylix?” he added loudly, elbowing the Kacheek.

“Yes!” Tylix chirped, after he had recovered from the sharp pain in his side. “Master, uh... Masters Rikti and Evett have taught me a lot about the soil! It’s really quite fascinating...”

“Soil, huh? I can see why old Denethrir took an interest, he’s always been about that weird stuff.” The guard scanned the parchment with obvious suspicion. “But aren’t you a mite young to be taking apprentices?”

“Well, we _are_ the only soil experts in all of Neopia,” said Evett innocently.

“Huh.” The guard folded up the contract and returned it to Rikti with a cough. “Everything looks to be in order, so go on in, I guess. Enjoy your stay.” He retreated into the gatehouse, muttering about crackpot scholars.

Once he was out of earshot, Tylix groaned. “Soil? Really, Rikti?”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Rikti returned smugly. “And that’s _Master_ Rikti to you!”

Just then, the guard stuck his head out again. They all stood up straight. “Ahem. I just remembered. Someone the other day was asking about three Neopets matching your description,” said the guard. “He was a scholar too, or looked like one at any rate. Think he said he was staying near the Rosemary Pavilion.”

Rikti wondered what that was about. Evett and Tylix frowned, looking equally lost. But the guard had no more details to offer. He waved them through, and with all the scholarliness they had in them, they passed under the archway into a lively crowd. They were in Sunnytown now, the proud port city of the south. It sat at the continent’s narrowest point, and dealt in trade both across the Summer Sea and with other lands beyond the great ocean. The merchants and scholars here, even in this darkening age, were fabulously wealthy. Rikti was accustomed to hearing northerners gripe about it, at any rate. Seeing the city now, he couldn’t bring himself to complain.

The city sprawled out haphazardly before them on either side of the canal, which rushed on unceasingly to the shore. The terrain was punishingly steep, and even in autumn the heat was impressive. Shops popped up on every side, stuffed to the gills with bright colors and shouting passersby. Flowers and ribbons hung from the windowsills. The lonely wilderness of the Wide Plains seemed an eternity removed from this place; Neopia City with its narrow streets and stark white walls was no less distant. Tylix was smiling, and Evett whistled as they made their way down the busy boulevards. They looked livelier than Rikti had seen them all week. Maybe Sunnytown was the closest thing Neopia had to the paradise of the future.

“So where is this pavilion?” said Evett, as they paused to gather their bearings. “It’s not far, is it? I feel like I could spend a month here.”

“It’s in the mages’ district. The best part of the city, by the way.” Tylix craned his head and finally pointed to the top of a large, ornate marble building on a hill overlooking the canal. “There’s the Guild of Scholars over there, see? The Rosemary Pavilion is nearby.”

They hurried through the marketplaces and plazas. Eventually the hubbub began to die down to a somewhat more well-heeled murmur. This, Rikti gathered, was the mages’ district: whispering trees, grand old houses, schools for apprentices, and storerooms piled high with artifacts of ancient renown. The whole air buzzed with magic. Scholars and mages milled about in fine robes, talking quietly or sipping drinks (‘tea’, Tylix called it—more fancy imported stuff, no doubt). Rikti realized belatedly that he hadn’t bathed in weeks.

Tylix, though, looked perfectly at ease. He made his way confidently through the streets, taking the others at last to a wide pavilion partway up the hill. It was white and elaborately decorated, much like the Guild itself. On the lawn around it were sweet-smelling rosemary shrubs dotted with tiny pink flowers.

As the trio walked over the grass and onto the pavilion itself, they found that it had a commanding view of the sprawling city. “Wow,” said Rikti, with his usual gift for articulation. Squinting out westward into the light, he could see the tree-lined streets, the bustling townsfolk, and the tall watchtowers overlooking them. The low sandy-colored wall meandered up and down the slopes. Boats sailed unhurriedly over the canal. And at its end, blocked by the buildings and the haze of the atmosphere, there was a faint shimmer on the horizon that might have been the sea.

The breeze was nice up here. Rikti wished he had the time to sit and enjoy the sights. But of course it wasn’t to be. Slow footsteps echoed on the stone behind. As Rikti and the others turned, they saw an aged Kyrii coming up to them. The scholar who had been searching for them was none other than Eleus Batrin.

“Eleus?” gasped Rikti. “What’re you doing here?”

Tylix coughed to cover his evident surprise. “Good afternoon,” he said more politely. “Er, how long have you been in Sunnytown? I didn’t know you traveled anymore. Master Denethrir always said you weren’t fond of the Guild—”

“Spare me the chatter,” Eleus cut in. His blue-eyed stare was stoic, like a statue’s. “I came here a few days ago, knowing you were likely on your way. I want to hear how your quest has proceeded. After all, it was I who set you on this road at the beginning.”

“You came all the way here for that?” asked Rikti, confused. “Well, sure, I guess. It’s kind of a long story. Um… we ran into Jahbal.”

Hurriedly he and Evett summarized their exploits since leaving Neopia City. Tylix interjected every now and then, although he looked uncomfortable at being swept up in this grand tale of adventure. Laid out in full, it sounded crazy to Rikti’s own ears. Had all this really happened? To _him_? It beggared belief.

When the story was done, Eleus leaned against the balustrade and contemplated it. His silhouette looked incongruously regal in the shade of the fragrant pavilion. “So this is what Jahbal has become,” he murmured at last. “To think this era has taken such a turn… The hour is at hand.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Evett said with some indignation. “You’re the reason we set off on this journey to begin with. Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

Tylix shushed him nervously, but Eleus merely shrugged his shoulders. “Of course I am. And if you must know, I’m pleased with you too. I laid a burden on you that you did not deserve, and the three of you have performed admirably in spite of it.”

“Then—”

“This is my fault. Utterly. But I have no time to dwell on that.” Eleus’ sharp voice grew sharper. “Tell me. Do you mean to go east now?”

Rikti fidgeted in his seat. He’d thought before that he recognized Eleus’ expression, but now it was clearly far worse than anything he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t an angry look, exactly. What Rikti saw was cold, meticulous, and yet restless with foreboding. It mirrored his own fears.

“We don’t have a choice,” said Rikti reluctantly. “All Evett and I can do is try to find out how Jahbal was defeated in the past, and use that to beat him. E-even if that means going to the Ghost City. It’s not far from the Two Rings, in any case.” He flushed and looked down. Admitting weakness still wasn’t his strong suit. “You know how outclassed we are.”

Silence. “I doubt Kal Panning has the answers you seek,” said Eleus. “Your response tells me all I need to know. You are not strong enough yet.”

He said this so decisively that Rikti thought they might all evaporate away on the spot. “What do you mean?” asked Evett in a small voice.

“The Ghost City, as you call it, is more than a mere waypoint in your travels—it is the birthplace and deathbed of Neopia’s fate. The curse that lies over it is stronger than the shadow of the Two Rings themselves. Do you really think you can press through the darkness of the First Forest and look upon that terrible sight?” He paused to look at them, confirming the truth from their faces, before continuing. “Let me be clear. You will need bodily strength to make it to Kal Panning. But what you find there will require a different sort of power. Aimless as you are now, you cannot hope to set foot in the Valley of Song and leave unscathed.”

Rikti didn’t know what Eleus meant by that, and he was quite sure he never wanted to find out. Even Tylix looked uneasy. Only Evett spoke. “Look, I still don’t know much about Kal Panning,” he said. “But we have to get there. We have to do whatever it takes to bring Jahbal down again.”

“‘Whatever it takes’… I wonder if you have the faintest idea of what you speak.” Eleus folded his arms. “It is no longer my place to direct the affairs of others. I will only offer you this little advice: do not go east until you are ready. Against Jahbal—against the truths of the World—you must not have even a single weakness. Uncertainty is a luxury in these times.”

He stared at Evett, who looked away uneasily. “It doesn’t matter,” Evett said. “The way things are now, we won’t accomplish anything no matter what we do. What’s the point?”

“The point, you ask?” Eleus’ eyes softened almost imperceptibly. “That is something you must discover for yourself.”

He rose to his feet, heedless of his listeners’ bewilderment. It was plain that, one way or another, the conversation was over. “Well, that’s all I have to say. I may keep watch over you, but do not look for me. Good luck.”

Sharing a dubious glance, Evett and Tylix turned and began to head back to the lawn. But Rikti hung back a little longer, feeling he owed it to a family friend.

“Thanks,” he said. “For, uh, coming all this way. And warning us. I didn’t think I would see you again until the adventure was finished.”

Eleus gave him another deliberating look, as if he was sizing him up. “You don’t hold yourself like an ordinary youth.”

“Um…” _Did_ he? He thought he’d gotten a bit wiser, maybe. Then he thought of Mokti and changed his mind. “It’s like you said earlier. I—we—still have to get stronger.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rikti prepared for the usual grandfatherly pat on the head, but there was none. Finally he cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “This is your first time in Sunnytown, right? You should do some sightseeing.”

“I did come here once long ago, but it looked quite different then. The Sunnytown of today has a refreshing air about it. If I had time to take it in, I would.” Eleus looked up at the leaves with fondness as he and Rikti walked slowly back to the street. “I fear I’ve forgotten much of my wide-eyed youth. But I still remember what I love about Neopia. What drives me onward.”

Rikti turned, more confused than ever. “And what’s that?”

But Eleus was already walking away. He passed Evett and Tylix silently and was gone into the crowd.

The staid hubbub of the mages’ district descended on Rikti as he returned to the mundane noise of the street. The sun was beginning to go down now, but it was still distractingly bright. For a second he was reminded of the door to the smithy in that quiet avenue of Neopia City. But everything was different now—Eleus himself not least. There was something hard in his demeanor; something that knew the coming threat and loathed it beyond all else. The genial old loremaster was nowhere to be seen.

“So, Evett, should we turn in for the night?” sighed Rikti. “We’d better get some rest, what with all the training we’ll be doing. There are probably some good inns back by the merchants’ district.”

“No need for that.” Tylix pointed to a large, rickety-looking building just up the hill. “I’ll put you up at my quarters in the apprentices’ lodge of the Guild of Scholars. You won’t have to pay, and we’ll be a stone’s throw away from the archives. It’s perfect, if you ask me.”

“But you’re the only one going to the archives. Right?!” Rikti cried. In the end, though, he and Evett had to admit that Tylix’s offer was convenient. They headed up to the lodge.

Its interior was no less shabby, but there was a certain homely cheer to the wooden furnishings and old carpets. It was a nicer place than any apprentice housing up north, at least. As Tylix filled out the paperwork for his guests, Rikti wandered off to the dining hall and helped himself to some delectable gruel.

“Hello! Are you new?” said a chubby Xweetok, sliding into the seat next to him. “Don’t think I’ve seen your face around here. Who are you apprenticed to?”

“Oh, I’m just visiting,” said Rikti. “Um… on business. My name’s Rikti.”

A gap-toothed Acara came up to them and clapped the Xweetok on the shoulder. “Come on, Leir. You really thought this fellow with a _sword_ strapped to his waist was a scholar’s apprentice? Where’s that big brain of yours?” Turning, she shook Rikti’s hand heartily. “I’m Rys Virn, by the way. Been studying here for four years now. Nice to meet you.”

Three more apprentices, apparently friends of Rys and Leir’s, sat down at the table and introduced themselves in turn. There was Anise, a bespectacled Aisha with a serious face; Tarwin, a joker of a Shoyru not unlike Rys herself; and Kuent, a freckled Meerca. They all looked quite interested in Rikti, and eagerly examined his sword.

“Northern make,” observed Anise. “Interesting. So I take it you’re an adventurer, then. Or maybe a mercenary. What brings you to the Guild of Scholars?”

“A mercenary?” Rikti sputtered. Surely he didn’t look _that_ competent. “No, uh, I’m here to do research. I’m staying here with Tylix, if you know him—“

“Tylix?!” the group chorused.

“Are you serious?” said Kuent, awed. “Not to be mean, but I’ve literally never heard him say a full sentence at supper. Who could’ve guessed he was up to all this intrigue?”

“Guess we misjudged him.” Tarwin imitated a dramatic sob. “Even geniuses like us get it wrong sometimes…”

“Oh, can it!” They erupted into laughter.

Rys leaned over conspiratorially. “So what’s Tylix really like? On the road, I mean. Does he actually talk?”

“…He does, yeah. I guess there’s more to him than meets the eye.” Rikti scratched his head, not sure what to say. He imagined Tylix spending night after lonely night here, keeping his dreams and his secret journal locked away. It didn’t feel right. Tylix was too smart, too inquisitive, too… _nice_ for Rikti to picture him as a loner in this cozy place, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

“Excuse me,” said Tylix mildly from behind them. “Could you make some room at the table?”

“There you are!” shouted Tarwin. “Come on, what’ve you been up to with Denethrir? Tell us!”

Tylix sat down in the corner and began to eat in silence. Judging by the apprentices’ disgruntled response, this wasn’t out of the ordinary. They soon switched their aim to Evett once he arrived a few minutes later. _He_ looked pleased about it, though—practically nostalgic. Rikti looked back and forth between his companions, bewildered. Then he seized the opportunity to do some… creative storytelling.

“It all started when I happened upon a mystical cave in the Hills of Jub…”

He and Evett didn’t mention Jahbal or Xantan or anything of that nature. It didn’t feel right to start a story so grand without giving it a proper ending. So instead they stuck to the lighter notes: the rollicking fights, the gorgeous ruins. The sorts of things that Rikti would’ve wanted to hear, if he were still that little boy sitting on his mother’s lap.

The boisterous evening went on. Once everyone had finished eating, they wandered over to the sitting room and gathered around the fire. Evett and Rikti went on sharing (increasingly edited) excerpts of their journey, to their listeners’ delight. Tylix sat quietly near the outskirts. He even piped up every now and then, albeit without much enthusiasm. The rest of the time, Rikti could see him watching the conversation out of the corners of his eyes.

“…and wouldn’t you believe it, he let us in!” Rikti finished.

“ _Soil_ experts?” laughed Tarwin. “The guard actually believed that? Then again, I’ve seen crazier things in the Guild.”

“You’ve never been in there before, right?” said Rys excitedly. “You’ll be amazed. It’s so clean and elegant—nothing like that fusty old Institute. Have you ever heard its nickname? We call it the little moon.”

Evett tilted his head in confusion. “What’s that about?”

“Just like the moon uses sunlight to shine, the Guild of Scholars uses Neopia’s knowledge,” she explained. “We gather it up, past and present, and display it for the world to see. That’s what’s so amazing about our job. You know, aside from the _real_ highlight, of course, which is copying scrolls in a windowless room all day.” The others guffawed.

“I see.” Rikti shot a look at Tylix, who was staring pensively into the fire. Something tugged at his heart. “These past few weeks I’ve really started to…appreciate what you guys do. I’ve always been a fighter at heart, so I never thought about it before.”

“We all have our paths in life,” said Anise in a kind voice. “Of course we scholars like to poke fun, but it _is_ thanks to Neopians like you that we can do our work in the first place.”

Leir nodded. “Without the watchtowers and underground shelters, Sunnytown wouldn’t be nearly as safe as it is. We still get attacked every winter, but it could be a whole lot worse.”

 _You’re not scared?_ Rikti almost asked. But it was obvious already from their faces. They had a different sort of courage—not the sort that came with force of arms.

“Shut up, Leir! They’re not gonna move here unless you keep quiet!” Tarwin stage-whispered.

At this, even Tylix couldn’t help but smile. “I promise not to show them the sewers,” he said. “Although, being northerners, I’m sure they’re used to worse.” More chuckles. Rikti did everything in his power to clamp down on the choicer retorts he knew.

“So you _are_ alive in there!” Rys elbowed Tylix playfully. “It’s a shame you never talked to us before. We always wanted to get to know you better.”

Tylix shifted awkwardly. “Did you?“

Rys, not hearing him, turned back to Evett and Rikti. “But really, we hope you two have a good stay. Make sure Tylix gets some more sun. Hear that, buddy? If you turn into a shut-in again after all this excitement, we’ll never forgive you! …Oh, and just ask me if you ever need some information on shock magic.”

“Or creatures of the plains.”

“Or sluice mechanisms.”

“Or the history of trade relations with—”

“Go to bed!” yelled the lodge-keeper.

Amid a chorus of harrumphs and good-natured shouting matches, Rikti and his friends bade the others good night and went up to Tylix’s room. It was a small place with a low ceiling and a rather interesting parchment smell, but no one complained. Evett opened the little window and peered out at the canal. The streets were quiet now, and the lanterns swaying in the breeze looked almost like stars. He breathed in and out slowly. A sad aura had been surrounding him ever since the events on the Wide Plains, but looking at him now, Rikti thought he seemed a little calmer.

“That was fun,” he said. “Your friends sure are lively, Tylix.”

“They’re not my friends,” Tylix replied. “I hardly remember their names most of the time.”

“But you like them, don’t you?”

“I don’t like anyone, really.” With that, Tylix determinedly busied himself dusting the room. Rikti hadn’t thought it was possible to tell such a bald-faced lie in this day and age.

Once the blankets were all laid out, Tylix took the bed (though he did his best to give it up) and the others slept on the floor. Rikti didn’t mind. He hadn’t had a bed of his own in years, anyway. As he fell asleep, he wondered dimly what terrible dream Tylix would be having tonight. And he wondered, too, what awaited them in the days to come. Ghosts? Jahbal? Some other horror Eleus could only hint at? Though the night in Sunnytown was peaceful, it was no reprieve from the end of the world.


	8. The Little Moon

Rikti cracked open an eye. It was still early; the sun was barely up. Evett and (surprisingly) Tylix were still asleep. Someone was knocking urgently at the door.

“Ugh. At this hour?” With a yawn, Rikti roused himself and opened it. “Hello?”

He half-expected to see Eleus Batrin wagging a shriveled finger at him, but instead it was the lodge-keeper. “You’re Rikti, right?” he asked. “There’s a traveler here to see you. A quite—“ he gave a loud yawn himself “—insistent one, for that matter.”

Rikti sighed. He had a bad feeling about this. Shrugging on his jacket, he crept down the stairs to the lobby. A short Korbat wrapped in an unseasonably heavy cloak stood there, his arms folded. It was Mokti.

To Rikti’s utter lack of surprise, his brother was not in the best of spirits. His red hair was sticking out in every direction, and his usually neat tunic was rumpled worse than Rikti’s. From his scowl and the bags under his eyes, it was apparent that he hadn’t been sleeping.

For a second there was silence. Mokti looked Rikti up and down, unimpressed. Rikti could feel himself withering under his brother’s gaze. Just like always. “Okay, what do you want?” he said finally. “Don’t tell me you’ve been following me around.”

“I just got here this morning, for your information,” snapped Mokti. “Some Lenny scholar came up to me at the port in Neopia City with a message. I couldn’t believe the things she said. According to her you’d been running all around the jungle—and not only that, you were planning a cross-country trip south!”

 _Thanks a lot, Margoreth,_ Rikti groaned to himself.

“So I sailed here as soon as I could, of course,” Mokti went on. “It’s my duty as your caretaker. Where else should I have gone?”

“I dunno,” Rikti mumbled. “But if you’re here to yell at me again—”

“I’m not!” said Mokti. “Do I look angry to you?”

“…Yes?”

Mokti hesitated for a long moment. Then, in an awkward motion, he put his hand on Rikti’s shoulder. It hovered there uncertainly. “This has gone on long enough. Can’t you come back with me already? You—you can go out and fight monsters up north if you want. You’ll still be able to do some good. But I’ll be there to keep an eye on you.”

Rikti struggled not to laugh. “You really don’t understand me at all, do you?”

“I—“ Mokti took a calming breath. “I’m just doing what I can. You know I have to. Come on, please?”

It was an oddly plaintive voice. Rikti looked away. He’d never heard Mokti talk like this before. He remembered Tylix’s vision of the flames rising in Swampedge City; and more distantly, he remembered himself and his brother running through those burning streets. All those years of running. He hadn’t understood then what it meant to fight—the strength it would take. If only he could go back to being that brash, ignorant kid hacking his way through Xantan’s cave.

The moment passed. Rikti couldn’t find the rage to yell. Maybe this was the one Neopian he would never be able to talk to. Shaking his head, he wrested himself from his brother’s grasp and fled up the stairs. He looked back once, but Mokti had made no move to follow him; he was already trudging away, staring at the floor.

 _Hah. Serves him right._ The usual jibes felt hollow. Rikti went down the corridor, hoping to sneak back into Tylix’s room. To his dismay, its other occupants were already awake. “Busy morning, huh,” said Evett sympathetically. “I didn’t think your brother would follow you all the way here.”

“Oh… yeah, it’s annoying,” Rikti replied in as normal a voice as he could muster. “No wonder he and Eleus get along so well.”

“What did he want from you?” asked Tylix politely. “I never knew you had, ah, family troubles.”

“Just the usual. He scolds me for being reckless, I point out he doesn’t have a clue what goes on outside his stupid wagonload of trinkets.” Rikti waved his hand, eager to dismiss the topic altogether. “But forget that. What’s the plan today?”

Tylix shot him a last concerned look before speaking. “…Well, I was thinking of showing you some of the tools and weapons you can buy here in the mages’ district. Evett could use a new gem, I think. Afterwards, we can make for the archives. There’s bound to be something there you can use.”

“Sounds good,” said Evett. They gathered their belongings and left the lodge. Rikti looked around furtively, but there was no sign of Mokti anywhere as they stepped out into the street. It was a quiet morning. A few rolling carts and bands of apprentices rushing around foretold the start of another busy Sunnytown day.

“There’s a place that sells gems two blocks this way,” said Tylix. “We can start there.”

“Nice,” said Evett. “How about we get one for you too? I’ll foot the bill.”

“That’s too much!” Tylix protested as Evett and Rikti pushed him down the street. They passed by a row of magical storerooms buzzing with magic before coming to their destination, an unobstrusive little store on the corner. _Gali Yoj’s Refractors and Staves_ , read the sign. Evett pushed aside a curtain of overgrown vines and ushered the group within.

Immediately Rikti was blinded by the glitter of a thousand gems. They were everywhere—on the windowsill, the shelves, the floorboards, every available nook and cranny. Each one of them caught the light like a miniature sun. Even for Rikti, who wasn’t one to put much stock in fancy things, the view was breathtaking.

A straw-haired Pteri came out from the back room. “Hello, hello! I do apologize for the mess. How can I help you lads today?”

“We’re looking for some gems,” said Evett. “Fire for me, and ice for the Kacheek here.“

“New apprentices, I gather? Don’t worry, I price for all walks of life.” She dug around in a drawer and retrieved two small translucent spheres about half an inch in diameter—bigger than the one Evett had carried, but not by much. “These orbs are well-suited to low-level magic. Five rooks apiece.”

Tylix winced at once. But Evett leaned over to whisper in Rikti’s ear. “Hey, are rooks the silver ones?”

“Yeah. But what—” As Rikti watched, Evett reached into his bag and pulled out a fistful of gold coins. ‘Neopoints’, Rikti recalled. Evett had used plenty of them back in Neopia City, but somehow there were still… a _lot_ left. Tylix choked audibly.

“What can we get for this much?” Evett asked with a small grin. “It’s not local money, but the gold plating’s real.”

Gali grabbed one of the coins, doused it in magic, and bit it a few times before she was convinced. “All right,” she said finally. “I won’t ask where you got those. Come downstairs with me.”

She unlocked a door behind her and gestured to the trio. They followed her down a narrow set of steps into a large vault with thick metal walls. Rikti surmised that it was one of the underground shelters, only… spruced up a bit. Here Gali lit a few candles in the sconces lining the walls, illuminating the darkness. Rikti gasped. There were even more gems here, crammed into cabinets and boxes. The overflowing riches stretched up to the ceiling. And the gems here were rich indeed—enormous, colorful, and polished to an elegant shine, they made the artifacts upstairs look like toys. Rikti stepped on a few and blanched at the thought of how much they probably cost. Only a few scrawled labels provided any hint of a method to the madness.

Gali brought out another pair of orbs. They were two inches long and sparkled brilliantly even in the dim candlelight. “If it’s precision you want, you’ll find no better refractors. Go on, try them. The walls here are reinforced with spells.”

Tylix gaped at the glittering jewels. Screwing his eyes shut, he took the white one gingerly in his paw. Rikti took several healthy steps backward as the buzzing sensation of magic filled the room. He expected to see a misshapen crystal like what he had witnessed back at Tower Gaia, but to his amazement a perfectly formed mass of spikes, like an overgrown white bur, sprouted from the orb. It hung in midair for a second before dropping into Tylix’s palm.

“Wow,” Tylix said meekly. “I’ve never had this much control before.”

Evett, meanwhile, affixed the red orb to the tip of his staff. It barely fit. Then he grabbed the staff with both paws and conjured up a fireball. It, too, had a more regular shape than what Rikti was used to. But then it got bigger. And bigger. “Stop!” Tylix shouted. But Evett was doing all he could just to hold on to the convulsing staff. The flame swung about wildly. Rikti dove for cover. Finally, cursing, Gali cast a shield of life magic that smothered the flames and hit the staff with just enough force to knock it to the ground. Evett landed on his rear, breathing hard.

“Uh… I wasn’t expecting that,” he said lamely, staring at the burn streak coating the floor. “Sorry.”

“Neither was I!” sputtered Rikti. “The gem Eleus gave you must have been holding you back.”

Gali relit the candles around the room. “If it were just a poor-quality gem, you would have sensed its limits before. Clearly that isn’t the case here. You’re simply more powerful than you think, and this gem allowed you to channel that power subconsciously.”

Exactly how deep were Evett’s reserves? Rikti shook his head. Judging by Tylix’s expression, he was just as shocked. What was going on?

“I don’t think the orb can take this much,” Evett said. “If I’d let it go, it might have exploded.”

“Yes. It’s evident to me that a precision-oriented weapon is not what you need,” she said. “Here. This one can take as much magic as you give it. And it has a lifetime warranty, may I add.”

She gave Evett another, even larger red orb. Much more cautiously this time, Evett fired up the staff again. The others stood well away. As Evett focused, a fireball just as large and ferocious as the last one leaped into existence. Rikti could practically feel his face searing as he looked at it. But it held stable. Evett inhaled and exhaled slowly before extinguishing it.

“I think that was better,” Rikti said, relieved. “Are you satisfied with it?”

Evett nodded. “It feels a lot nicer than the one I was using before—no offense to Eleus. What about yours, Tylix?”

“Er, no complaints here,” Tylix said. “But are you sure—“

“Yup. We’ll take them.” He counted out the coins (with a few extra to cover the damage) and gave them to Gali, who was practically salivating. “Thanks.”

“Do come again,” she answered with a large wink. “I could always stand to line my pockets some more.”

Soon they were standing on the street again. The day was shaping up to be an especially bright and warm one. Tylix turned his orb over in his paws. Gali had put it on a chain for him, and it looked conspicuously glitzy in the sunlight. “Thank you, Evett,” he said, looking more embarrassed than ever. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Why? ‘Cause I can, and you deserve it,” said Evett. “Even if you’re not coming east with us, you’ve got a long road of your own to follow. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Tylix blushed and stared at the floor. Rikti, meanwhile, jabbed Evett in the ribs. “You know, you still haven’t explained how exactly you got all this gold. No matter how fancy-schmancy your future is, rare metals don’t just pop out of thin air.”

“I dunno who _makes_ it, but I earned this money fair and square. Picked it up from odd jobs. Not exactly the height of luxury.” Evett laughed, but the sound was oddly melancholic to Rikti’s ears. “I’ve got more, so let’s see if we can get some non-magical stuff too. Personally, my tunic is really starting to smell.”

* * *

They left the mages’ district and spent a few more hours shopping. There was plenty for Evett to spend his riches on: it was a busy day, and shopkeepers were crammed into the street bazaars even more tightly than they had been the day before. Tunics, winter cloaks, and waybread for the road were soon piled up in Tylix’s arms. He didn’t dare ask how much they had cost.

After dropping off their new possessions at the lodge (to the incredulity of the other apprentices, whose finances matched Tylix’s exactly) they turned toward the Guild. It was past noon now, and the marble steps were bustling with activity. Evett craned his neck to get a full view of the gleaming facade. “I can’t even see the top. How many Neopets are in here now, you think?”

Tylix beamed. “Quite a few, I’m sure. It’s the little moon and all.”

At the top of the steps was a wide oaken door. Tylix showed his papers to the guard, introduced his two ‘guests’, and was promptly let in. Inside, behind a majestic row of pillars, was an ornate foyer full of scholars going about their daily business. No matter how many times Tylix went in, he could never quite tire of the sight. Lights shone from every crevice. The ceiling was alive with rich carvings of flowers and leaves. Paintings and shelves lined the walls, each overlooking one of a vast warren of corridors. Rikti whistled. “Wow. This place is practically its own city.”

Tylix, after greeting a few clerks who recognized him, led Rikti and Evett down one of the hallways. They looked around in awe at the enormous vault doors rising up on every side. “I can feel the energy,” said Evett, patting down his fur. “What’s in this place?”

“Only the biggest collection of artifacts in all of Neopia,” Tylix replied with a smile. “Most of the continent’s best magical weapons were developed here. Swords, gems, rods—whatever tools you can think of, some long-ago scholar has filled them up with magic for study. In fact, there are so many they had to build extra storehouses in the mages’ district.”

They passed a display case full of glittering golden jewelry, each accompanied by a small plate noting its provenance and magical potency. Rikti eyed the pieces with a mixture of amazement and suspicion. “Oooh. My stomach’s getting queasy again.”

“You get used to it after a while.”

They turned a corner and entered another open space crowded with milling scholars and apprentices. Some heated debate on the particulars of mind-reading floated down from an upper floor. The echoes of the conversation, and of the pitter-pattering footsteps gliding around it, were like the tide of the great ocean. All in all, it was wonderful—a familiar home of sorts, both comfortable and grand. It was the only real home Tylix had ever had.

“The largest historical archives are all this way,” he said, pointing at the north wing. “Only full scholars are let in, though, so we might have to settle for the second level…”

“Don’t worry about that!” Rikti cut in, suddenly brightening. “Your local soil experts are happy to help.”

Tylix opened his mouth and shut it again.

As it turned out, Denethrir’s hallowed contract and a little bluffing (“This apprentice is vital to our soil compendium. You hear me? Vital!”) were enough to get all of them into the archives. The place was smaller and drabber than the cavern that had been Tower Gaia’s library, but it was no less crammed with knowledge. Tylix couldn’t resist a tiny squeal of excitement.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands. “You two, do what you like. There’s bound to be a book here that’ll help you on your journey. But don’t expect any help from me.”

The trio went their separate ways. The archives were quiet, with only a few other scholars nearby; Tylix soon settled peacefully in a corner with a pile of books. He really had meant it when he’d said he wouldn’t help, but… when it came down to it, he couldn’t resist a little digging into the history of the Ghost City. After all, it was there that the Old Times had met their end. Now that he had this precious chance to access records no other apprentice could touch, he’d be a fool to pass it up.

Even in these archives, though, memories of the dark days were difficult to come by. Before the battle there was plenty to read about—Kal Panning had been the capital, after all, and a marvelous island-city that awed visitors near and far. But sources afterwards were silent. The name of the city had become fear itself, and that fear lived on still today.

Hours passed. Tylix went through a long biography of the Circle of Twelve, hoping to find a few more clues. There was Xantan the Foul; Haletha, renowned for her mastery of the bow; Faleinn, the great philosopher and shape-changer; Rosval, maker of swords and shields; and so on. Jahbal was at the end, overshadowing the rest even here.

But all the information here was common knowledge, Tylix thought in frustration. Why wasn’t there anything about the final battle? And come to think of it, shouldn’t one of the Twelve have been leading Kal Panning against Jahbal? Rosval had been its longtime chieftain, but the book said he had fallen just a month before the last assault. Someone else must have taken charge. But who? That was another odd omission.

Blowing out a breath, he changed tack and opened up a chronicle of every major battle against the monsters for the three centuries following the end of the Old Times. It wasn’t in chronological order, and the text, written in some archaic dialect, was far too small to read comfortably. Such were the trials of a scholar.

The attacks were all of a similar nature. The monsters were disorganized bands, never a full army. They struck quickly and with devastating force—yet they hardly ever went as far as wiping out a settlement, even the smallest village. Either the Neopets beat them back, or they retreated of their own accord after their rampage. Tylix remembered what Jahbal had said. It all made sense now. The monsters had never been after prey or wanton destruction; they killed just enough to reap the energy that would bring their master back to life.

The book made no mention of the origin of the monsters. There was a brief aside about the abandonment of the Institute after it had been overrun with pygmies, but nothing more. With the great wars upending the continent at that time, it seemed no one had bothered to look into Korabric. Or rather, Rollay. All the destruction—the wars, the chaos, everything—had started with him. Tylix remembered his dreams and swallowed a sense of great unease.

He turned the pages quickly, trying to put the thought out of his head, when suddenly he found what he had been looking for. There it was, just another cramped paragraph in an overly-cramped book: an account, however brief, of Kal Panning’s doom.

_Final year of the ghastly war. Kal Panning stood alone without succor. A leader it sought, invested with such force as might rebuild the walls and overcome the enemy. And unto the isle came a great sorcerer, whose hand spake with time, and whose name we know not._

Tylix’s breath caught in his throat. Hurriedly he read on. _For thirty days and nights the city was defended. But a curse of strange shape fell upon the rebels. They faded and vanished thence from the earth; and became shades which all fear. The city’s savior was vanquished. And Jahbal did prevail over Kal Panning, and ravage it utterly. Yet by Fortune’s whim he too was laid low, and sealed in the Two Rings, and the horde which followed him hath scattered to all corners of the land. There endeth our account of the ancient days. And in our time one might come to the ruins of the fair city and yet behold its twisted wreck: but from afar only, lest its power bury one’s soul. Such is a Dissonance, as decreed the scholars of old._

Tylix exhaled and shut the book. It was too little to go on—too little. There was so much more he wanted to know. What was the curse? Who was the sorcerer? And what was a dissonance, anyway? The word sounded familiar, but not enough for recognition. Rubbing his chin, he sat back in his chair. His curiosity was well and truly piqued now.

Then his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Rikti, who plopped down next to him with an armful of scrolls. Tylix hadn’t the heart to tell him that none of them were in any way relevant, and half weren’t even in the right language.

“It’s almost sundown. What’ve you been you up to?” asked Rikti.

“I’ve found something interesting,” Tylix said. He recounted the story he had read. “Now what do you think about that?”

“A sorcerer with power over time, huh,” Rikti muttered. “Evett’ll be interested in that. I wonder if he’ll really be able to make it home.”

“I don’t know,” said Tylix thoughtfully. The Lupe’s face floated in his mind. The shape of it, or perhaps the color, seemed to have changed lately. “Have you noticed he hardly ever talks about himself? His life in the future, his friends, his hobbies. Do we know anything about him at all?”

“Huh?”

Tylix raised an eyebrow. “I mean it. Try and name a single distinguishing personality trait of his.”

“He’s… well, he’s nice...” Rikti faltered. “A-anyway, so what if he’s a bit boring? Doesn’t mean he’s a criminal.”

“Of course not. But there might be something he hasn’t told us.” Tylix paused. “He isn’t normal. He tries very hard to be, I think, but in the end he just isn’t.”

Tylix remembered the night he and Evett had talked outside Tower Gaia. He’d seen Evett’s eyes pointed up at the sky, searching for the constellations he’d known. Those eyes had been mirrors. There was so much depth behind them, and yet they were full of nothing but the stars above. Tylix didn’t know what it meant. He had never understood others. He wanted to understand more and more, these days, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet that flat gaze head-on.

“In any case, it’s not my concern,” he said aloud with a cough. “Could you help me shelve these? The archivists won’t be happy if we leave them out here.”

Rikti chewed his lip, caught up in thoughts of his own, but he nodded. A few minutes passed as they gathered up the books and scrolls strewn about the table. Once they were done, Rikti gave them a long look. Something about him seemed particularly moody. “At least Evett isn’t stuck in the past,” he said.

“What do you mean by that?” said Tylix, half-absentmindedly.

“It’s Old Times this, Old Times that,” said Rikti. “All the good stories are from then. All the books in the library talk about them. It’s like nothing else matters to us. To Neopia, I mean.”

Tylix looked up. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “The reason we don’t have a future is _because_ of what happened all those centuries ago. Erick said it best: as long as those old grudges still linger, time won’t pass for us.”

“But he also said we could change—move on from it, somehow.” Rikti lay his head on the desk. “I’m trying. It’s easier said than done, being the last hope.”

“Ha. I had a feeling you were eavesdropping back then,” said Tylix. He reached out and touched Rikti’s arm. “Well, I wouldn’t worry so much. That’s _my_ job, you know. It doesn’t suit you.” _What am I saying?_ he thought. He was terrible at being friendly. But Rikti gave him a bit of a smile, and that was good enough.

Evett arrived a few minutes later. If he saw anything brewing in the atmosphere of the room, he didn’t show it. He looked almost boyishly excited when Tylix told him about the strange passage in the book. “Wow,” said Evett. “I don’t really get it, to be honest, but it sounds promising. Do you really think I could get home?” His eyes were wide. There they were again, those mirrors.

“Possibly,” Tylix answered. “I wonder what Eleus would say about it.”

“Something depressing, I bet,” said Rikti, lifting his head. “Well, I don’t need any more of that now. It’s high time for supper. The Ghost City can wait!”

As they went up the stairs back to the ground floor, they saw afternoon rays of sun bursting through the windows. The whole corridor, every painting and bookshelf and marble wall, was alive with color. And down below, stretching out to the twinkling ocean, was Sunnytown. At this distance, the chaos of city life was blurred away; it was a quiet, almost placid landscape. 

“It’s a good view,” said Tylix. “Even better than the pavilion, if you ask me.”

Crowds of scholars passed by, chatting and arguing among themselves. A few apprentices hurried after them, carrying quills and scrolls; Kuent was among them, and as he went by he gave Tylix a cheery wave. Up above, the debate on mind-reading was still ongoing with no end in sight. Tylix wished he could have stayed here forever, an ordinary scholar ensconced in this house of learning. The knowledge his gift brought him was a curse. But looking at Evett and Rikti beside him, he couldn’t help but admit that it was—sometimes—a blessing.

And yet that night, for the third time in a week, there were no dreams.

* * *

Evett woke up the next day feeling refreshed. He suggested they explore the town and find a place to train. Tylix obligingly took them on a tour through the merchants’ district, the city center, an enormous public garden, and all sorts of other places. Evett looked around, trying to commit everything he could to his unstable memory. There was so much here—so much that arrested the eye, that filled it with energy. Evett’s only experience with the towns in this era had been Neopia City: a bustling metropolis in its own right, but one with a decidedly stately appearance. It was an ancient city, after all; they didn’t call the inner ring Xantan’s Pot for nothing. Sunnytown was an altogether different experience. What it lacked in history, it made up for with overwhelming life.

Tylix was no exception to the buoyant mood. He led the way, talking all the while. As he explained, he’d lived in Sunnytown ever since his apprenticeship had begun a few years ago. “If not for that, I’d probably still be fishing by the coast.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t suit you,” Rikti laughed. “Wow. Can you imagine? Our very own prodigy hunched over on some beach angling for anchovies.”

It sounded like a perfect existence to Evett: the quiet and unambitious life he’d always wanted. And yet, described like that, it did sound absurd. Who could dream of the ordinary at a time like this?

“Forget about fishing,” said Tylix. “Come here and look at these imports!”

He gestured to one of the market booths. It was stacked high with sweet-smelling spices and trinkets. As Evett and Rikti came nearer, they saw Tylix already listening raptly to the merchant’s explanations.

“This? It marks time,” she said, pointing to an floridly-carved little box with a round display. “See? Arm here says hour. Arm here says week of month.”

Rikti stared at the object skeptically. “Why would anybody need that? We’ve got sundials and hourglasses for that kind of thing.”

“I think it’s interesting,” Tylix objected. “Look how advanced this is. It’s some kind of machine, right?”

“You are right,” the merchant answered. Opening the back of the box, she revealed an intricate set of interlocking gears. “Very simple, no? Neopians should all have. Let me set for you.”

She began to twist the central gear, and the whole system began to move. Rikti and Tylix watched the arms spin around with wide eyes. Evett squinted at the box. It was a clock, wasn’t it? He’d seen plenty of those in his own time. They had looked different, though—they’d had hands, not arms, and the hands had pointed to… to… what, again? Suddenly he was grasping at nothing. What had the clocks looked like? Like—like—clocks. The word felt unfamiliar even as it came to his mind. His mouth went dry.

For a moment he stood still, putting the noise and the bazaar aside, thinking only of his home. There was so little to remember. The images fled as soon as he turned his sight to them. He couldn’t understand why. Why this, why now?

“Evett! C’mon, we’re gonna leave you behind!” shouted Rikti. He and Tylix were already up ahead, flitting from one stall to the next. Evett forced himself to walk on.

“That device really was something,” Tylix was saying as Evett caught up behind him. “I wish I had more time to look at it. I bet there are scholars here working on something similar right now.”

Rikti rubbed his chin, looking contemplative. “It’s weird to actually see time with your eyes. The gears, I mean. They’re like water wheels turning in a river. Kinda crazy.” It was an evocative image. Absentmindedly Evett pictured the gears circling backwards, winding future into past, churning that unseen water into foam. The river of an unshakable destiny.

As he mulled these thoughts over, he found that they had made their way to the northwest point of the city. There was an old shipyard here, sitting by a tributary of the great canal; a few planks and rotting vessels bobbed up and down in the stale water. No one was nearby.

“Oh, nice,” said Evett. “This is a good spot to practice.”

“Great. In that case, I’ll take my leave. You don’t need me anyway—” Tylix was interrupted by the roar of a bolt of fire headed straight for him. Dodging at the last moment, he grabbed the orb around his neck and tossed up an array of ice crystals that scattered the flames. “—all right, _that_ was unnecessary.”

“What do you mean, we don’t need you?” said Evett. “Look at how you ducked that. You’ll be a great training partner.”

“But I should go study,” said Tylix, not very convincingly.

Rikti gave him a knowing look. “You want to try out your new gem, don’t you? Well, don’t hold back on our account.” Drawing his sword and strapping on his new buckler, he launched into a thrust.

The fight began. It wasn’t much of a fight—with magic and a bare blade involved, they were all holding back. Really, it was more of a chance to hone their techniques. They had never had the chance before, not when the drudgery of travel had stolen all their strength. Here they could practice to their heart’s content.

Evett had observed Rikti and Tylix fighting before. Now he admired them more than ever. Rikti was fast on his feet, using his small size and limited flight to his advantage; with the buckler on his arm, he had even greater maneuverability. It was like nothing could touch him, much less wound him. Tylix, meanwhile, had a knack for pinpoint precision and strategy. He always seemed to place himself perfectly for a ranged attack, whether it was an ice-propelled plank of wood or just plain ice itself. And like Rikti, he was polishing his defenses. Evett saw him create an ice sheet in the air that blocked fire and sword head-on; though it cracked easily, it was a formidable start. These two kids had skill and agility Evett knew he could never match.

Evett didn’t have much to his name other than power. But he had a lot of it. Gali Yoj’s orb channeled the raging energy in his core with flawless ease, like an extension of his own body. He felt his heart beat to its pulsating rhythm. Just as it had in Xantan’s cave and atop the Temple of Roo, the primal magic in him poured out in unremitting waves. Fire coated the ground and rippled through the air. Even holding back, he could barely keep a lid on it. If anything, it had gotten stronger than before.

“You’ve been struck by lightning, that’s what,” Rikti concluded as they sat down to rest. “How do you think the Circle of Twelve got so good?”

“That’s just a myth!” Tylix sniffed. “Don’t listen to him, Evett. If I had to guess, it’s somehow related to your time travel.”

Of course. Everything was. “I just hope I don’t burn out or something,” said Evett uneasily. It was strange to think that he wasn’t in control of his own body. First his memories, now his magic.

“Don’t worry so much,” said Rikti. “There’s still time before we leave. It’ll work out.”

 _It’ll work out…_ That hope carried them through the week. Evett and Rikti spent most of it training. Rikti jumped at the opportunity to trounce Evett in a no-magic duel, which he did several times. Evett grudgingly began to brush up on his physical combat. The staff, while thin, was hardier than it looked; it made a better club than his old bat. With luck, he’d be as dangerous up close as he was at range.

Sometimes they stopped by the Guild to visit Tylix, who had holed himself up in the secondary archives heedless of their complaints. It seemed he really did plan to focus on his research from now on. Evett and Rikti saw him and the other apprentices mostly after dusk, where they whiled away the hours by the fireplace in jokes and conversation. Tylix said little, but he stayed every time.

The days passed, warm and mild even as the leaves turned yellow on the trees. The nights were brisk with autumn air. There was no sign of Eleus or Jahbal. Evett felt as if he were inhabiting a single frozen moment of peace, a dream as vivid and shallow as Erick’s illusions.

“We should leave soon,” said Rikti one evening, as they headed back to the lodge. There was a festival going on, it looked like. Lanterns crisscrossed the orange sky, and the tantalizing smell of street food wafted out in every direction. Someone somewhere was loudly and poorly playing a zither. “We’ve done enough, haven’t we? Look how much stronger we’ve gotten just these past few weeks. Even Eleus can’t complain.”

“You’re right,” Evett said. “But… I dunno. Eleus said we were aimless. Are we any less aimless now?”

“He’s just talking in riddles. I swear he’s making less sense now than he did back in Neopia City.” Rikti rolled his eyes. “I mean, I get it. He doesn’t want us going near—“ he lowered his voice “—the Ghost City. I don’t either. But then why doesn’t he just _tell_ us what’s in there?”

Evett furrowed his brow. “It feels like he’s waiting for something. Some kind of reckoning. Tylix probably understands it better than us.”

“Well, that’s true for most things,” came a bright voice behind them. They jumped. It was Tarwin, tailed by the usual gang and Tylix himself.

“Uh—“ Rikti began.

“Why the long faces?” said Rys. “Can’t you tell it’s a holiday? Come on, let’s eat!”

She ushered the group towards a nearby food stall, where they were soon helping themselves to some fried fish. Evett realized belatedly that he was famished. With all the magic leaking out of him, he was lucky he hadn’t keeled over from exhaustion yet.

“So what’s the occasion?” he shouted over the din and a mouthful of fish.

“Founders’ Day!” Kuent shouted back, though he was standing right next to Evett. “Minna the Wise laid down the first block of the city wall on this day three hundred years ago.”

“Unofficial chronicles say otherwise,” Anise interjected. “Personally, I don’t think the story holds much water.”

“Can’t you turn off your brain for _one_ second?” Rys complained. “This is supposed to be fun!”

“I am having fun. See?” Anise took a decorous nibble of her biscuit. Everyone groaned.

They wandered around the streets, eating and watching street performers. Tarwin stopped to argue with a magician doing card tricks. Leir was trying and failing to juggle bean bags. Kuent complained about his workload to anyone in earshot. Tylix shuffled along, looking as if he was doing everything he could to avoid being too happy. Somehow amid all the chaos they made their slow way down to the canal.

It was a little less crowded here, and the water was calm. Evett looked around him. The sun was finally disappearing behind the hills; lantern light shone golden in the darkening sky. Neopets were walking along the banks and over the little footbridges. Some fished, or dangled their toes in the cool water, or sang songs and watched the sunset. The watchtowers were ever-present; the doors leading down to the shelters peeked out from every corner. The city was on guard. And yet the liveliness of Founders’ Day continued unabated.

“Having a good time?” Tarwin asked, as they all relaxed on a nearby hillside. “You look a little overwhelmed.”

“I am,” Evett admitted. “I used to live in a big city, but—it wasn’t like this. I was always alone back then.”

“Well, that’s no good,” said Tarwin, flashing him a signature grin. “Without friends and neighbors, a smelly old place like this would be unbearable. But _with_ them, it’s pretty decent. Life goes on, you know? We all do what we can together.”

Tylix hugged his knees. “Yes… it’s nice.”

“Isn’t it?” Tarwin slung his arm around Tylix’s shoulders. “You ought to come out with us more often.”

Evett was reminded once again of Erick’s illusions, of that determined crowd of followers and those sculptures staring boldly into the night. But Tarwin and all these townsfolk were no mirages of a bygone era. They were real, living Neopians: Neopians who struggled every day for the sake of this peace. And it was that very struggle that made their lives worthwhile. They were anything but ordinary.

 _What’s the point?_ he had asked Eleus. Maybe this was it. Maybe on that night in that ghastly corner of the Haunted Woods… he had made the wrong choice.

* * *

Mid-afternoon again. Tylix yawned. The rows of scrolls before him slid in and out of focus. Usually it was dreams that kept him up at night, but once more he hadn’t had any; no, the culprit now was the Founders’ Day festivities. The music and carousing had gone on well into the night. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for the momentary reprieve from his terrible visions or indignant that he was still tired regardless.

He’d wanted to skip the event, the way he usually did. The joyful crowds and their celebrations didn’t suit him. If anything, they made it hard to keep up his facade. It was impossible not to get attached to it all—the lights, the crowds, the songs. The other apprentices, barely more than strangers to him, were suddenly fresh in his mind. And then he thought of Rikti and Evett. Their jokes, their bright eyes. Without them, the room seemed so much larger.

They would be leaving soon, heading east. There they would meet their destiny. If it couldn’t be changed, he could at least see them once more before it happened.

“Stop this,” he muttered. “It’s not like you.” Clearing his throat, he resolved to focus on the book in front of him. It was an overview of archaeological discoveries in northwestern Neopia around Swampedge City. Normally he would have taken to it with alacrity, but now his head and heart felt heavy. The imaginary snowfall over the Two Rings bit at his fur. “Maybe I should go along with them after all…”

This was absurd. He’d sworn long ago that he would chase nothing but knowledge in the little time he had before Neopia’s doom. The Valley of Song should have been last of all on his list. But the familiar arguments were drowned out. He understood now why Eleus had called him aimless, and he hated the truth of it. Slowly, with the inevitability that he knew came only from his magical gift, he passed into sleep.

At once he knew this was an unusual dream. He was floating in a great, colorless abyss, with his gaze fixed on a golden river. The river had many tributaries, and sometimes it would split into a bundle of narrow streams; but always the shining waters rejoined as one, and together rolled on through the infinite void. Tylix watched the river flow, but he could not make out its origin nor its destination. And from every direction, arresting the ear with its thunderous harmonies, came a symphony of music.

Tylix didn’t know how long he was there, watching this ethereal performance. Visions couldn’t be measured in seconds or hours or years. But slowly he became aware that the river had changed; or was it that the change had always been there, and he was only now seeing it? Regardless, he looked closer. There was a vortex forming in the river: a mighty disturbance of crashing waves and foam. The music became hurried. Strands of gold splintered from the main body and twisted in bewildering shapes. One of them shot upwards away from the river like a shooting star; another raced forward, to some further point beyond Tylix’s sight; then the two curved towards each other, faster and faster. A harsh and discordant note rang out—no, a whole melody, playing frantically over the lyrical piece that had preceded it. Tylix winced and covered his ears. It occurred to him that this was no ordinary vision. Nothing like this existed or would ever exist in Neopia. He was seeing something far beyond his comprehension.

The water frothed chaotically. The cacophony rose in volume as the two melodies fought for dominance. It became agonizing to hear the dissonant pitches—the dissonance—dissonance.

_Where did I…_

Darkness fell. It was an utter darkness without sound or light. Tylix saw flashes of the cataclysms he knew well, but every time he reached out to them they vanished. Only a trackless void remained.

The dream ended abruptly. With a gasp, Tylix awoke to the drab lights of the archives. He shivered. The river… he didn’t understand it, but it was exactly what Rikti had talked about as he’d looked at that foreign time-keeping device. _Water wheels turning in the river of time._ Somehow it had all gone wrong, and the world—no, the World—had been disrupted.

He shut the book and stood up. Air. He needed fresh air. But just as he turned to the exit, he heard horns all over the city ring out. The scholars in the room leaped to their feet. Tylix froze. He knew what those horns meant. It was an annual occurrence here. But not now. Not this early, and not so suddenly.

An archivist rushed into the room. “There’s a horde of monsters coming west out of the First Forest,” he yelled. “They’ll be here by nightfall. Report to the city guard if you can fight—otherwise, prepare to take shelter.”

Exclaims filled the quiet chamber. “It’s too soon in the year for an attack!” one scholar protested. “How did it take the guards this long to notice?!” shouted another.

The archivist raised his hands placatingly. “I don’t know the details, but the scouts say this band of monsters is different from the others. It’s organized, and moving faster than we’ve ever seen. Like an army, perhaps.”

The scholars were even more dumbfounded at this. “An _army_? That’s ridiculous. They’re primal beasts.” “Well, don’t forget how things were in the great wars. We have records of Jahbal commanding them—“ “Please! That was a thousand years ago!”

 _No… no, it can’t be. Not here. Not Sunnytown._ Silently, and feeling more dazed than ever, Tylix slipped out of the room. He knew nothing of this attack. He’d never had a vision of it. Sunnytown had fallen a hundred different ways in his dreams, but never like this. Not once. It was the first time his power had failed him.

Then he recalled the blank darkness he had seen. It had not been the darkness of night or ruination. There truly had been nothing there for his visions to show. As he pondered that possibility, nausea struck him. It could be that none of the futures he had seen would come true—that some other, unknown possibility would come to pass. All his life he had stood on the solid foundation of fate, cruel though it might have been. Now even that had gone away.

More than anything, he felt a pressing emptiness in the space behind his eyes. The World’s imbalance was his imbalance, too. The river and the void would be his last vision. He felt his stomach twist with the sudden loss.

_But maybe… the snow on the mountaintop won’t happen either._

Outside, the city was fast transitioning into a fortress of war. There were no music or lanterns now. Tylix hardly noticed the stream of merchants rushing to the coast, nor the soldiers shouting directions as they marched up and down the streets, nor even the townsfolk gathering spears and clubs with grim determination. His feet led him unthinkingly back to the lodge, where he found Evett, Rikti, and the five apprentices in the sitting room. Other apprentices scurried around them en masse, carrying precious artifacts and messages.

“Phew, you’re here,” said Rikti. “We were talking about what to do.”

“You should leave,” Tylix told him in a rush. “I don’t know if they’ll let you into the shelters. There’s still time before the gate closes. Go with the merchants and hide down by the coast. It’s the best thing to do—“

Evett shook him by the shoulders. “Slow down. What are you talking about? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“What?” Tylix reddened.

“Since when were you so concerned about us?” said Rikti. “We’re going to fight, of course. If you think we’re going to turn tail and run _now_ of all times, you’ve really lost it.”

“Your friends’ve been telling us the layout of the city’s defenses,” said Evett. “If we head to the northeast plaza near the main gate, we’ll be in a good place to help out the guards. It’s a central choke point. Right?”

“You’ll be a general any day now,” said Leir with a straight face.

Rys looked at Tylix apologetically. “We tried to stop them. But you know these two better than we do. They’re fighters to the bone.”

“More or less.” Evett offered a wan smile. “Anyway, thanks for the help. You’d better get your things ready now. I bet the shelters fill up quick.”

The apprentices turned to go. “Tylix? Are you coming?” asked Anise. Her bright eyes were uncomfortably attentive.

“Er…” Tylix was having trouble thinking straight. Everything was moving too fast. Logic never seemed to occur to him at times like these. Not in Rollay’s glass garden, not in the Temple of Roo, not here.

“I’ll stay and fight too,” he said in a strained voice. “Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be—be careful.”

Anise nodded. “Okay. Good luck to you all.” Those words were hope in themselves. Nothing else needed to be said. With a few smiles and a parting glance, the apprentices disappeared into the crowd. They, at least, would be safe.

Tylix turned to Evett and Rikti, who were staring at him with eyebrows raised. “Are you sure you’re the real Tylix?” asked Rikti. “I mean, you’re actually worried about us, and now you’re going to fight. Did we rub off on you somehow?”

“This is no time for jokes!” Tylix reddened further. “I do have a duty to protect the Guild, you know. If Jahbal is attacking now, it must be because he’s grown powerful enough to seek out even more energy. The artifacts in the Guild and the mages’ district will be his first targets.”

“Figures,” said Evett. “We were thinking the same. It’s a good thing you’re around to confirm our suspicions.”

“Well…” Tylix hesitated. He felt more embarrassed and scared than ever. How could he admit to them that he’d lost his only guide in all this mess? “Consider them confirmed. Let’s go to the plaza. The guards will probably have plenty of orders for us.”

As they gathered up their gear and made their way through the streets, they could see the afternoon sun hanging low and red in the sky. More shrill hornblasts echoed through the valley. The streets were emptying slowly but surely. The last boats sailed off. Left behind were the guards, the Guild’s mages, and those civilians who had volunteered their arms.

A crushing unease fell over the city. There was a battle on the horizon, one that would outpace anything Sunnytown had ever seen since the days of old Minna the Wise. Legends of the Old Times were coming to life. It was enough to make any soldier quake in his boots.

Tylix trudged alongside Evett and Rikti. A pale half-moon shone overhead, fading even as the sun fell to the horizon. The light over the plaza was dimming quickly. Tylix felt the tension in his bones. Aimless… yes, the three of them were still aimless on their grand journey. But for tonight at least, they had somewhere to be. 


	9. Fire Rising

It was nightfall, and the northeast plaza of Sunnytown was crammed with defenders. City guards in red and silver, Guild mages with shining gems, a host of civilians who had volunteered their arms—these were Neopia’s best. But they spoke in low voices, glancing about them at every moving thing. The fountain was silent, and the cobblestones were dark in the shadows of the shuttered storefronts surrounding it. In the light of the torches, theywere painted a dour red.

Evett, Rikti and Tylix stood among them, feeling out of place. The three of them were used to jumping into danger by now, but waiting helplessly for the blow to fall was another matter entirely. Already they heard distant cries and the sound of blades crashing against tooth and claw. So the main gate was under attack.

Evett could feel Jahbal’s malice in the air. He desired Sunnytown’s magic, and he would stop at nothing to get it. The gate surely wouldn’t hold for long. This plaza was at a crossroads between it, the Guild, and the head watchtower; its defense was paramount.

“This is all a trifle to Jahbal,” Tylix said under his breath. “He thinks he can win easily.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Evett with more conviction than he felt. He gripped his staff tightly. Gali’s orb would have to serve him well.

One of the mages gave a shout. A winged creature had evaded the archers at the gate and was swooping low in the air. Letting out a screech, it made for the Guild. But as it passed above the plaza one of the volunteers fired a bolt from her crossbow. It glanced off the monster’s hide, embedding itself in its wing. With a cry the beast crashed through a rooftop and did not reemerge. The defenders breathed again. But then they heard loud commotion from the walls. The gate had been breached.

A soldier ran into the plaza. “Message from the captain! You’re to spread out more thinly. The marketplace and mages’ district need backup—it seems the monsters are spreading all through the city to get to the Guild. They’re more cunning than we thought!” And he ran off again.

“The monsters weren’t like this before,” said one of the mages. “What are they after?”

“No idea,” said another. “Does it matter? We’re going to stop them.”

The mages and the volunteers nodded to each other and dispersed, leaving only twenty defenders behind in the plaza. Rikti, Tylix and Evett were among them. They heard quick footsteps approaching, and the rattle of makeshift armor scraping the cobblestones. The first monster, a hideous Lupe, appeared from the shadows. Evett met its gaze, and his throat tightened. He saw himself in those feral eyes, that ragged pelt. That creature had been an ordinary Neopet once. For a brief moment he let himself pity it.

Then Rikti drew his sword, and torchlight gleamed bright on the blade. “Okay, let’s go!” he yelled. Evett took a deep breath. It was time to put all cares and doubts aside.

A shout went up. The soldiers surged forward. Evett went with them, striking blindly at every monster he saw. There were more of them behind that first Lupe, far more. He lost sight of Rikti and Tylix almost instantly in the chaos. The tide of darkness was overwhelmingly strong. He saw red eyes piercing him to the bone, and heard the shrieking laughter of creatures bent on destroying him. Was this Jahbal’s trifle?

The plaza seemed to grow tenfold in size. Evett felt alone and outnumbered. He was rationing his magic, or trying to, and his attacks seemed weak. He struck down one monster, then another, and another. It made no difference. Once he thought he heard one of his friends call his name, but amid the noise there was no way to be sure. And the monsters seemed to fight on incessantly. They had no will of their own except the desire to live and reach their destination. There was something tragic in their slavering mouths and cruel gazes, and it made Evett all the angrier.

“Why—won’t—you—stop!” he yelled, throwing fireballs in every direction. But the horde came ever nearer. A spear grazed him. Claws scraped his vest. He was surrounded by a madding crowd of infinite numbers and infinite hatred. He wasn’t cut out for this. He wasn’t a soldier. He was just… ordinary. That was the truth.

Suddenly he saw something gleaming in the air. It was an ice crystal, or several of them. They struck home cleanly, and five monsters collapsed. It was not a large number, but Evett’s mind seemed to clear. He looked around as if coming out of a dream. Half an hour or so had passed. The battle was raging, but there were not as many monsters in the plaza as he had thought. Piles of the defeated lay about him. Shouts and the ringing of swords echoed about the streets. The other defenders were hard at work, it seemed.

“Are you okay?” shouted Tylix, running to his side. He looked relatively unhurt, though battered and anxious. “You were doing pretty well up till the very end, it looked like.”

“What about you?” panted Evett. “And where’s Rikti?”

“I’m okay—I’ve been staying back and targeting anything that the others haven’t reached. I don’t know where Rikti is, though.”

“He’d better not be trying something crazy again…!” Evett gritted his teeth. There was no time to fret over Rikti, not now. They all had their battles to fight.

Another wave was flooding into the plaza. The volunteers and mages were doing their best, but they were beginning to flag. Evett felt an inexplicable rage rising in him again. Raising his staff again, he faced the monsters.

“W-wait! At least give me a moment to help!” cried Tylix from behind him.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Evett yelled over his shoulder.

“With this orb, I don’t have to!” Tylix returned. As he spoke, another crystal sprouted in his palm. He fitted it to his slingshot and fired it with ease. It sailed over Evett’s head and nailed a Peophin beast square in the muzzle. Evett had to say he was impressed. He’d never pegged Tylix as a fighter, but just in the past week he’d grown by leaps and bounds.

Time went on. Eventually the stream of monsters began to ebb; most were at the gate, where the fighting was hardest, or elsewhere in the city. Evett, Tylix and the other soldiers in the plaza were left to deal with the ones rampaging through the streets in search of the Guild and other magical targets. Slowly the defenders’ numbers dwindled; there were just too few of them, and too many opponents. Evett, for his part, was so dizzy with exertion that it was a miracle he still stood.

But somehow, he did. His magic never ceased, and monsters fell before him. As his mind dulled with the hours of pain and drudgery, his body seemed strangely to lighten. It must have been his strange power at work. And yet after all that, he couldn’t even say whether all his fighting had made a difference. His trust in this path he had chosen was all that held him to it.

Tylix came up beside him, looking pale. “Let’s rest for a few minutes. Do you have any water? My bottle’s slashed.”

“Plenty.” They sat down on a pile of fallen bricks and took gulps from Evett’s waterskin. For a while neither of them spoke, seeking only to breathe in peace for a moment. Then Evett looked down and noticed something.

“Hey. You’re shaking all over.”

Tylix blinked and stared at his lap. “Oh. You’re right. I guess I am.”

Evett put a paw on his shoulder. “You okay? Come to think of it, you’ve been acting weird this whole time. I’ve never seen you so ruffled.”

“You’re right, it’s not normal for me,” said Tylix with a short laugh. “I’ve seen it all before. Wars, destruction… I’m used to all that.”

“Then why—”

“I’ve seen the ruin of Sunnytown, but never like this. I’ve never seen this battle.”

Evett furrowed his brow. “I mean, it’s not like your visions show you _everything_ that’s going to happen.”

“They used to. At least the bad things. Even if I didn’t understand them, or if I only got a quick glimpse, they were always there.” Tylix drew his knees up to his chest. “But they’ve been getting fainter for a while now. Ever since Tower Gaia. And earlier today I had my last one.”

Evett gaped at him. Could it be possible? Could Tylix’s mysterious gift just up and leave? How…

Tylix stopped suddenly and took a long breath. He looked terribly vulnerable, like the child he was. “I’m scared, Evett. I think something’s changed.”

“It’s you,” said Evett quietly. “ _You_ changed, Tylix. You met Rikti and me at Tower Gaia, and ever since then you’ve been helping us. Maybe the reason you’re not seeing destruction anymore is because you’re altering Neopia’s destiny. Couldn’t it be that simple?”

Of course not, but it was the best Evett could offer. There was a long pause. He expected Tylix to snap at him, or at least lecture him on the uselessness of ideals, but finally the little Kacheek turned and stared into his eyes. The directness of his gaze was almost unnerving. “Do you really think so?” he asked. “Do you really think there’s a chance?”

“…Yeah. I do.”

“I see.” Tylix slumped his shoulders. “It was so much easier when all I had to worry about was myself.”

Evett said nothing. They sat in silence and stared out at the stained and broken fountain. The battle went on.

Suddenly Evett smelled something burning. He looked up. There was an unearthly glow in the sky to the south. The changing wind was blowing toward them, choked with ash. Something terrible was happening. “The mages’ district is on fire,” he gasped.

Tylix stood up, his face drawn. A thousand things seemed to go through his head at that moment. Quickly he rallied himself. “It must be bad if we can see it from here. I suppose Jahbal is determined to get those artifacts.” He hesitated. “Do you think Rikti went that way?”

As soon as he said it, Evett slapped his forehead. “Of _course_ he did. That idiot.” Even as he spoke, he too rose to his feet. There was nothing more he could do here. The fire, the artifacts, Rikti, Jahbal… he didn’t love the mages’ district like Tylix did, but he needed to be there.

“We’re not cut out for this plaza anyway,” he said. “Over there we’ll be able to move freely.” Tylix nodded silently. There was no choice to be made here. All they could do was help wherever they could. It was just like he’d said. There was still hope. Hope for Neopia—hope for him to return where he belonged. He just had to find it somehow.

 _I know how you feel, Tylix_ , he thought. _There’s nothing reassuring about any of it._ Bowing their heads, they turned and made their way out of the plaza: two small creatures searching for direction in a city that would give them none.

* * *

“Okay, let’s go!”

The evening sun shone bright in the west. The first wave of beasts was pouring into the plaza. Rikti took a measured look at their numbers, aimed for their weakest point, and advanced. He leaped into the air, catching a monster’s club on his buckler. He spun gracefully and sent a whole crowd of beasts to the ground. He swung his sword with the skills he had spent years honing.

It should have been the best moment of his life. He’d dreamed of a great adventure like this as long as he could remember. Those half-forgotten evenings in the little house by the swamp, listening to his parents tell tales of adventure and war… and here he was now, living them in the flesh. He should have been reveling in this battle. But to his lack of surprise, he wasn’t. The songs never quite seemed to match reality.

Rikti took a breath and paused. His side of the plaza was clear for the moment. Evett was fending off a whole horde of monsters with his fire; Tylix was further back, bringing them down from afar; the other soldiers were scattered around the square. In the wind he heard the sounds of desperate fighting at the gate and in the surrounding neighborhoods. Rikti was lucky he was still holding his own.

He saw a white flash in the air to the south, almost like a firecracker. It was so sudden and quick that at first he thought he had imagined it. But then, flying up to a nearby balcony, he saw it again. A house in the mages’ district was up in flames. Some monsters had already gotten through, it looked like. And now they were in search of energy.

Rikti suddenly remembered Tylix’s friends and all the other townsfolk sheltering underground. What would happen to them? A wave of heat rolled over him, and light filled his vision. More fires were starting. The sight stirred something in Rikti. A memory of that terrible day…

He wanted to tell Evett and Rikti, but every second felt precious. He could only hope they would follow after him later. _Sorry, guys. I’ve got to do this. It’s not for me… not anymore._

Leaving the plaza, Rikti jumped from rooftop to rooftop. It seemed to take him an eternity, and he cursed his useless Korbat wings. The state of things below was obscured by smoke and the sounds of chaotic fighting. With every new flash of orange light, his heart pounded faster. He had to get there soon. He had to do something, prevent what was surely bound to happen.

As he raced over the rooftops, a blow suddenly grazed him from behind. He turned his head. A beast was on his tail—a monstrous Draik with rows of teeth like blades. Rikti had never seen anything like it before. And as he marveled, it opened its mouth, preparing for another strike.

Rikti dodged sideways in the nick of time. Behind him he heard screams. There was a small crowd of civilians watching from the street. They must have fled their shelter, only to run headfirst into this Draik. Rikti gritted his teeth and faced the monster. “All right, you want energy? I’ve got some.” Great. He’d stuck his head into something crazy again.

He flew and landed a few rooftops away, straining to get out of the creature’s reach. It gave chase with ravenous eagerness. Back and back he flew. Compared to Jahbal, the monster’s movements were easy to predict. But it was still powerful, and Rikti’s body wasn’t meant for aerial battle. It was all he could do to stay ahead of it and make a few weak counterattacks of its own, whenever he could spare the precious seconds to look back. He was losing height and ground fast. And the mages’ district was so close…!

Then it happened: the monster swung its claws with frightening speed. Rikti turned, trying to block the blow with his buckler. It skidded off, and then he felt a sharp pain in his wing. He let out a gasp. Suddenly he was falling. Sky and wall passed him by in a blur. At the last second he realized what was happening to him, and in a frantic motion he flapped his other wing to give himself some lift.

He landed hard in a patch of grass. The wind was knocked out of him. Pain shot through his body, just enough to keep him conscious. Thankfully he had managed to avoid the cobbles. But right as he came back to his senses, he heard the monster’s cry from above. It was barreling down, preparing for the final blow. Rikti groped around in the grass for his sword. There it was, just within reach. He closed his numb hand around the hilt. The Draik was just above him now. Rikti raised his sword to the sky and thrust it upward as hard as he still could.

The monster gave a cry and tottered forward. Rikti dropped his sword again. He gathered his wits just enough to fend off the monster with his bare hands. They were locked there for a moment, wrestling in silent agony. Rikti’s arms trembled with exertion. The monster’s head was just inches from his, and he could feel its hot breath. His eyes watered from the stench and heat.

Finally, bracing himself against the ground, he managed to roll to the side. The beast, surprised by the sudden void beneath it and overcome by its wound, fell flat on the ground. Rikti scrambled onto the cobbles. Then, grabbing his sword once more with a nerveless grip, he plunged it into the monster’s belly. Purple blood splattered the grass, mingling with Rikti’s own. The monster twitched once, twice. Then it lay still.

Rikti stepped back. Another one dead. Another Neopian beyond the reach of light and goodwill. His legs wobbled. The hot and stinging air muddied his lungs, but he forced himself to remember what he had come here to do. He needed to help. First he decided to find those townsfolk who had wandered into the monster’s path. Good. That was a start. He couldn’t fly anymore, but he could walk. Nodding dimly to himself, he went on.

They had probably gone in the direction of the Guild, he surmised, and so he began following the gentle incline of the hill. As he went up the street, the heat became more intense. Buildings all over were burning now. The sight of each and every one of them seared his eyes. Ten years ago he had run from this. No longer. He went on.

At last he arrived at the mages’ district. The pleasant tree-lined avenues were unrecognizable now. Burnt debris littered the ground. Smoke and ash choked the air. Though it seemed much of the quarter had already been lost, a few scattered skirmishes were still going on. Monsters and soldiers were battling in the streets, each side trying desperately to stop the other from escaping the inferno. As Rikti watched, one of the burning structures collapsed into rubble. He recognized it as one of the magical storehouses. The monsters began to dig through it eagerly as a bare handful of soldiers endeavored to hold them off. The shouts and wails were endless, drowned out only by the roar of new flames rising.

Rikti stuck his blade, almost on instinct, into a beast crawling by him. It crumpled without a sound. Rikti stared at it. Fifty more were coming, no doubt. The last defenders were already fleeing. There was nothing he could do here. He turned and stumbled onward, looking for something he couldn’t describe. The din of battle passed him by, but the fires were ceaseless. His lungs burned. But he wanted to continue. He wanted to—to—

A voice came out of the darkness. “Rikti? Rikti, come this way!”

He turned again. The townsfolk he’d been looking for were half-crouched in a side-alley. He saw curious faces, grateful faces, determined faces. And at the front stood his brother, beckoning to him. It was as if Rikti was a child again, wandering the streets of Swampedge City. His eyes stung. Maybe this was fate. It had to be.

“So you were the one who saved us,” said Mokti.

“Surprised?”

“Save your witty remarks, will you?” Mokti grimaced. “Listen, our shelter caught fire, but we know a safe passage out of the city. You’d better come with us.”

“Thanks,” said Rikti tiredly. “But I can’t. You know that.”

Mokti’s face darkened. “Well. I figured you’d say as much.”

He gestured at the others to go on, leaving only him behind. The two brothers stared at each other, separated by mere inches. But to Rikti the distance between them might as well have been the Wide Plains themselves, burning away into ash.

“You’re never going to change, are you?” said Mokti at last, in a low voice.

“Change…? _Me?_ ”

“Yes, you!” Suddenly Mokti was shouting. “You’re still putting your life on the line, and for what? After everything I’ve done for you, you’re ready to throw it all away for a city you don’t even know! You—you little brat!”

This again… this again. “So what?” Rikti growled. “I’m not like you! I’m tired of following you around, letting you raise me into some sensible merchant. I’m tired of—”

He stopped. Suddenly none of it mattered anymore. He felt like he might faint. “Actually, forget it.”

“What?”

“I’m not really mad. How could I be mad at a time like this? I was never that good at pretending, you know.” He wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

Mokti opened his mouth and shut it again. His whole frame slumped. “That’s new,” he said with a sad chuckle. “I thought you really did hate me. I mean, why else would you do this? Run away with strangers and risk everything? Why are you still fighting, when you know what it cost us?”

Rikti swallowed. The noise seemed to dim to a whisper. He had to say it now. And oddly he found that it was no longer as hard as he’d expected it to be. Perhaps because this was his last chance.

“I never hated you,” he said at last. “You’re annoying and stuck-up, and you never ask me for my opinion on anything. But you’re still my big brother, idiot. You were the one who brought me out of the fire that day. You’ve kept me safe ever since we were kids. How could I hate you?” His voice cracked.

Mokti bit his lip. Rikti barreled on. “I’ve seen so many beautiful places now. Met Neopians I started to care about. I want to do for them what you did for me. I want to save Neopia.” He took a breath and winced as he tasted the smoke. “I know. I know what it costs to fight. I get it now. But I’ve got to pass it on, right? I have to make this world better.”

The seconds ticked by. Finally Mokti exhaled, as if shaking off the anger. Something about him looked so… normal. So tired and worn. It had always been there, all these years, but Rikti had never looked for it.

“You really are the worst,” Mokti mumbled. “I used to be able to shout you down, but all of a sudden you’ve turned into an orator. It’s really quite annoying.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “A while ago I asked that Evett fellow to promise me he would look after you. But I suppose it’s time I asked you instead. Will you come back?”

“Of course. This time next spring we’ll be yelling at each other like always… I’m sure of it.”

“All right. Then one last thing—“ Suddenly Mokti bent down and hugged him. At first Rikti was too stunned to move. Then he returned the embrace. Even in the midst of all his aches and pains, it was wonderfully soft.

“I’m proud of you,” Mokti said, so quietly that Rikti thought he’d imagined it. Then the older Korbat straightened up and dusted himself off with some embarrassment. “Anyway. That was some good swordplay I saw earlier. Make sure to eat your greens, and stay close to Evett, you hear? It won’t do if you catch a cold out there in the wilds.”

“You got it,” said Rikti, laughing through the tears. “Same to you, okay? If you’re trying to get out of Sunnytown now, you’d better not do anything reckless. Those other folks in your shelter probably think you’re a real character.”

“Unlike _you_ , I always make the rational choice.” Mokti smiled and stepped back. “Good luck, Rikti. I’ll be waiting for you up north.” Then, giving a final wave, he walked away down the alley and disappeared.

There was no need to say anything else. This wasn’t goodbye, after all. Rikti exhaled, feeling satisfied. Then, dragging his fist over his eyes, he gripped his sword and charged up the hill without looking back. Everyone was making for the Guild, soldier and monster alike. The battle for Sunnytown was reaching a dire point.

There were no songs for a time like this, but maybe one day there would be. There’d be something to wash away the bitter taste of struggle, something to lift up its valiant dreams. Rikti wanted to hear that tune. He lifted his head and saw the moon coming out. The night was still young. He had work to do.

* * *

The further Tylix and Evett ventured from the plaza, the worse their surroundings became. The streets lay empty and devastated. Every tree had been torched; every house had been reduced to smoldering ash. The largest fires seemed to have gone out by now, but small ones still licked at the fallen lumber. Maybe Rikti really had gone through here. It certainly would have been a fitting place for him to go.

The ground glowed with fiery embers. Even with Tylix using his magic to clear the way, he found it difficult to move. He forced himself to put aside his emotions and push onward.

“Do you think Jahbal can see us?” muttered Evett.

“I don’t know,” Tylix answered tightly. “But I’m sure he has a base here somewhere. Look at all these monsters carrying artifacts.”

The mages’ district was just ahead of them. Many monsters roamed about, picking through the ashes in search of magical energy. A few were skulking off with gems and other shiny trinkets clutched in their teeth. There was no sign of any Neopian.

As Tylix and Evett approached, trying to see where the monsters were taking their plunder, they were noticed. With all the buildings here burned to the ground, there was nowhere to hide. They would have to cut their way through the crowd.

“You won’t have the advantage of range this time,” Evett muttered. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Tylix took a deep breath. His close-quarters skills still weren’t much, but after a few days of hard sparring he felt confident enough to give them a try. The ordeal in the Institute was long past. “Of course.”

As they ran forward, the creatures turned to face them. Tylix inhaled and gripped the orb that hung from his neck. In his mind he constructed the image of what he desired. It was his usual method, and a far cry from Evett’s spur-of-the-moment conjuring. As energy flowed into his paw, he could feel his imagination taking form. It was a wonderful sensation of control, like putting the first drop of ink on a blank sheet of parchment.

In an instant he could feel a long dagger resting in his palm. It was a bit duller than the average dagger, but as it had been created out of his own spirit, he could wield it with ease. “If only I’d had more time to practice,” he sighed to himself. “How was I supposed to know I’d get so engrossed in all this?”

The dagger twirled in his grasp. Stretching out his other paw, he released the magic he had built up. Ice shot out from it and coated the ground around him. The monsters shrieked and staggered. Though great in numbers, they were slow to react to a sudden turn of events. Jahbal’s army was evidently still far from what it had been in the old stories.

A Wocky threw out a slashing blow, but it lost its balance and went wide. Tylix ducked under it and threw his dagger. His aim was as true as always; the crystal struck it square in the chest. Tendrils of ice snaked out from the point it had touched. The monster stood frozen, half from shock and half from the chill rapidly spreading through its torso. It wobbled backward, scattering the creatures behind it. A path was opening up.

Still too slow. He had to be faster. With the ice on the ground preceding him, he forced his way up the winding avenue. Evett was just behind him, blasting and punching the crowds of monsters. Worn as the Lupe was, he was still trading blows with ease. He had gotten so much stronger in the mere weeks since Tylix had met him—it almost beggared belief.

Shuttered houses and storefronts passed by in a blur. Broken signs and flowerpots were trampled to dust. Tylix and Evett ducked into an alley once they had gotten far enough ahead, hoping to catch their breath. On the other side, Tylix spotted the remains of Gali Yoj’s shop on a silent street corner. The shop had been reduced to cinders; only the back wall was left standing. Gems lay scattered on the cobbles, their brilliance in splinters. Gali herself was outside, furiously sweeping up the shards with a broom.

“Looks like it’s been ransacked,” whispered Evett. “The monsters must have come through here.”

Gali whipped toward them. “Who’s there?!” A small jewel-encrusted knife hidden in her wing came soaring through the air. Energy sparked along its blade. Tylix and Evett dived out of the way just as it sank into the wall behind them and exploded.

“Wait, wait!” said Evett, coughing. “We’re not monsters!”

The dust cleared. Gali squinted at them. “Oh. You’re that rich Lupe from the other day.” With a grunt, she flew over and pulled the knife hilt out of the remains of the wall. “Everyone’s fled to the Guild. Hurry that way if you want to keep your head on your shoulders.”

“What about you?” asked Tylix. “Shouldn’t you go too?”

“And leave my shop? As if!” Gali gave a pompous sniff. “I spent _years_ building up my collection, only for those moronic beasts to break in and carry it off! What’s worse, they don’t have the slightest delicacy. Look—they’ve practically left a trail of rubble. Now I’ve got to salvage something marketable out of all this! Wars are bad for business, I tell you.” With a huff, she returned to her sweeping.

Tylix looked around. Indeed, he could see a faint line of shimmering gem shards winding away from the shop down another street. “The monsters must be storing all these artifacts somewhere,” he said thoughtfully. “Miss Gali, do you know where they went?”

Gali shrugged. “The houses in that area are full of spacious cellars. I’m sure they could have found one to their liking. But there are dozens of beasts lurking there. If you’re looking for your valuables, I can assure you they’re not coming back.”

“It’s not that,” said Evett. “If we stop those relics from being drained, Jah—er, the monsters won’t get the energy they’re after. They might pull back.”

“Hm.” Gali rested her arm on the broom handle. She squinted, giving the duo a once-over. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear your little slip-up. But I’ll say this much: if Sunnytown’s fate rests on your shoulders, you’d better not mess up. And _don’t_ break your gems.”

“We won’t,” Evett promised hastily. “Thanks for the directions.”

“Get my stuff back while you’re at it!” shouted Gali as they ran off. “Best of luck!”

The road began to incline sharply upward as they went after the shards. The thin trail was difficult to make out, and for a while they were lost. The echoes of ferocious fighting high above them at the foot of the Guild made them quail. Then a fey light burst out over the tumbled-down rooftops. High above the smoke and clouds, the moon was coming out. Monsters all along the hill howled and screeched, sensing their hour at hand. The shards on the ground sparkled like morning dew.

“Looks like it goes that way,” Tylix muttered. He and Evett were about to round a corner when they heard a shuffling sound to their left. They froze. Four armored Chia monsters were slinking out of a decimated magical storehouse, clutching armfuls of treasure: mirrors, beads, scimitars. They seemed too occupied with their precious cargo to notice the intruders mere yards away—but then Tylix noticed that Evett’s gem was catching the light as clearly as the shards they had been following. It was too late. The monsters looked up and charged.

Evett raised his staff, but he had no time to prepare a blow. The Chias were already on top of him, battering him with a storm of blows and thrown artifacts. They were small and fast on their feet, especially in this open space; Evett, still a novice at brawling, plainly couldn’t counter them at close range. But in their haste, they had forgotten Tylix.

Tylix backed up to give himself space. He had to act quickly before Evett was overwhelmed. Even with the moon out, it was difficult to see anything amid the chaos. Slingshots and daggers would do no good here. He would have to cast his net wide and hope for the best. And he had to be quick. Above all else, he would have to strike first.

With his orb resting in his paw, Tylix willed his strength to come forward. Once again he pictured his desire. The orb rose up, glowing, until it was floating above his palm. And then—ice sprouted from it. A dizzying array of daggers, curving through the air in a jagged arc, rushed forth before he could even blink.

“Evett! Jump!” he shouted.

Evett did as he was told. He leaped straight up, head and shoulders above the Chias. And all four of them, stuck low to the ground, had nowhere to dodge. In a flash they were blown halfway down the street. Magical relics went flying.

Tylix felt a twinge of fatigue hit him. “I think I overdid that,” he admitted.

“Are you okay?” said Evett hurriedly. “Actually, you’d better be, because—” One of the Chias was getting to its feet and stumbling around the corner. As it ran, it let out a wild shriek. From deeper in the maze of streets there came a chorus of answering cries. Tylix steeled himself. There would be time for regrets later. If the Chia was calling for reinforcements, the monsters’ hideout was surely near.

Tylix and Evett turned the corner onto a wide avenue and raced after the Chia. The trail of gem shards had been scattered in the confusion, and that lone monster was their only hope. A crowd of beasts poured out of the doors and windows behind them, but they didn't dare stop and engage. With the horde on their heels, they made their way to the top of the avenue. Ahead of them, the Chia scrambled into a narrow alleyway.

Evett and Tylix had reached the southern edge of the mages’ district. The Guild was only a block or two away now. Tylix stared at it for a brief moment, biting his lip. Even now it looked beautiful; its gleaming dome, only slightly tarnished by the labors of war, could be seen over the hollowed-out roofs. The sounds of grueling battle were growing louder and louder. Sunnytown’s defenders were doing everything in their power to keep Jahbal from their most precious magical reserves.

With some effort, Tylix wrenched his gaze away from the Guild and turned to the dark alley where the Chia had vanished. Well, _alley_ was a charitable description; it was barely wide enough to fit a Neopet.

“You go first,” Evett said. “I’ll try and hold off these monsters.”

Tylix squeezed into the alley and squinted. It was terribly dim here, but he thought he spotted a small door in the building to the right. It seemed to lead to a cellar of some kind, just as Gali had suspected. As he inched forward, he suddenly felt a prickling sensation on his skin. An evil presence was here.

He turned his head to call out to Evett, but then he felt a wave of magic in the air. Evett was standing at the entrance to the alley. The light of his gem was waxing to a brilliant shine. The monsters approached, hissing and growling. With a yell Evett unleashed his power. A bolt of crimson flame rushed forth. Heat cascaded outwards. Tylix felt his fur stand on end as the rushing breeze distorted around it. Suddenly most of the monsters were gone, and so was most of the building across the street.

Tylix was too shocked for a second to speak. “…That’s the most you’ve shown so far, I think,” he finally managed.

Evett looked just as surprised. In the darkness, as their eyes met, Tylix thought he saw something strange. A faint white glow on Evett’s pelt, like the soft gleam of a star—but it vanished when he looked again.

“Evett—”

His words were quickly drowned out. The remaining monsters were already closing in, too near for another round of fire. And then, as Tylix turned back around, he saw the Chia and a larger Wocky monster emerging from the cellar. He and Evett had no choice but to fight on.

Tylix pushed all worries and questions out of his mind. As the Chia brought down its sword, Tylix conjured up a dagger and parried the blow. Chunks of ice went flying. The monster countered with a flurry of strikes; though no more skilled than the rest, it was terrifyingly fast. And the Wocky was there too, delivering another round of blows. Tylix found himself losing ground with each passing second. Even pushing his reflexes to the limit, he couldn’t make up for the natural strength and speed of these beasts. If he could just find an opening—

Behind him, Evett pounded one of the bigger monsters into the earth. A shriek went up from the horde. The Chia, too, gave a cry. Its sword dropped to its side for a moment. Just a moment, but that was all Tylix needed. With the orb in his palm, he concentrated his power into his fingertip and thrust it through a chink in the Chia’s helmet. Glowing cracks spread through the metal until it broke apart in pieces, disorienting the Chia. Tylix grabbed its face and, placing as much magic into his paw as he could, shoved it backward into its partner. Ice blossomed from the Chia’s helmet as it struck the Wocky behind it. Both of them fell dead.

“Evett! Hurry, let’s go in!” he yelled. Shakily he and Evett descended into the cellar. It was dark, but moonlight from a few tiny windows near the ceiling filtered in. Rubble and pieces of broken glass were scattered about. Claw and fang marks scored the floorboards and ceiling beams.

Tylix walked around to examine the room while Evett barred the door with as much debris as he could find. The stairway to the ground floor had collapsed; one of the finely-carved banisters lay in burnt pieces on the ground. On the floor, half-covered by velvet drapings, were five tall piles of dark objects: mirrors, swords, scepters, tomes, and precious gems looted from all over the mages’ district. The piles rose so high that they nearly reached the windows. Magical energy filled the room, enough to make a familiar nausea tickle the back of Tylix’s throat.

Yet he saw no way for Jahbal to reach that power. How did the monsters convey energy to their overlord? There had to be some ancient spell that would do it. He turned his attention to the floor. Peeking out from beneath one of the mounds of twinkling relics was a curved scratch. Just one, and it was hardly even visible, but there was something odd about its shape.

“Why are all the artifacts stacked up like this, anyway?” said Evett, still keeping his weight pressed against the groaning door. “The creatures could have thrown them anywhere they liked. You’d think they’d worry about the whole mountain toppling over. Speaking of which, why _isn’t_ anything toppling over?”

Now that was a good question. There had to be something holding all the pieces together. Tylix ran to another pile in the corner of the room and checked the floor beneath it. He saw a similar curving indentation clumsily scraped into the wood. And then, almost indiscernibly, it glowed.

“It’s a magic circle!” he gasped. “Like the ones we’ve seen before, though much simpler. Tools he could use to spy on others… and to collect energy. He must have directed his monsters to draw these for him—anybody would do as long as they could make the right symbols—”

“Okay, okay, so what do we do?!” interrupted Evett anxiously. “If we just break the circle, that should stop it, right? The way Korabric did?”

Tylix struggled to recall anything else he knew about magic circles. There was little; almost all the facts had been lost to time. “I—think so? I doubt Jahbal could have placed a protective enchantment on them from afar. But we can’t step into them, or else—”

The door gave in at last. Evett lurched forward under the weight of a whole company of slavering monsters. Tylix gasped. There were so many more now. Where had they all come from? He didn’t have nearly enough power left to fight them all off. And even if he _had_ , he didn’t dare make a move in the midst of all these unknown relics.

Evett had no such compunctions. He swung his staff wildly, trying to beat the monsters back with sheer muscle. A stray blow knocked a hole into one of the piles of treasure. Tylix heard something snap in the air like a wire. The mound, which had been so still before, began to list to one side. Glittering trinkets tumbled down its long slopes with the fluid elegance of a waterfall.

“Evett, stop!” he said. “You’re going to—“

His cries were unheeded; indeed, Tylix himself went unnoticed in the dark corner where he was crouching. Evett was fighting hard, but the monsters steadily forced a retreat. The air thrummed with potent energy. Evett took a step backward, then another. He was on the very edge of a circle now. “Stop!” Tylix shouted again. “Don’t move!” There was nothing he could do. As he watched, Evett teetered and—as one of the monsters slammed into him—fell into the pile of artifacts. Another snapping sound echoed through the room. The hoard collapsed, burying Evett under a wave of shining gold and silver. There was no sign of him.

The rim of the circle was now fully visible. Tylix could see a few faint words of Kayannin script crudely etched around it. He saw, too, the malice that lurked beneath. It was palpable in the air. This was undoubtedly the same force that had dominated him and his friends at the Temple of Roo.

Tylix looked down and realized he was trembling again. There were still twenty or so monsters crammed into this room. The whole world was against him, the way it had always been.

 _Do you really think there’s a chance?_ he had asked Evett not even an hour ago. But that had been a rhetorical question, of course. He’d known the answer for a while. The visions had only been the last straw.

Finally he accepted it. He bade farewell to the old life he had always lived. Gripping the white orb, he placed his paw on the floor. It was cold, getting colder. As power flowed into his fingertips once more, he heard Evett’s voice echoing in his head.

_Yeah. I do._

And ice split the floor in half.

* * *

Darkness surrounded Evett. It was an all-too-familiar sensation for him. Memories of Xantan’s cave came back to him, and with them came deeper and more terrible things. How many years had he spent in that pit in the Haunted Woods, gnawing on nothing but pity and remorse? Where had the time gone? _Ah… not this again,_ he thought. _I don’t want to remember this._

Another voice interrupted his nightmare—not Xantan’s screeching wail but the velvet tones of a far more terrifying villain. Evett felt that creature’s hideous regard on him, and in the cold darkness it was a searing green flame.

“My, my,” it said, sounding disappointed. “I felt a disturbance and came to check on my circles, but I find only you again. Well, I suppose I can take advantage of this. I didn’t quite drain you last time…”

A wave of exhaustion came over Evett. He saw those orange threads again, floating away, floating on an invisible breeze. He strove to move, but his body would not obey him. It was as if he were a thousand miles away from it, staring at it from the other end of a long tunnel. Distantly he felt the weight of a great many artifacts crushing him into the ground. They were so far away. So far away…

“Don’t bother,” Jahbal answered with a laugh. “You are in my domain now, little Lupe; we are speaking to each other within the confines of your mind. It was very unwise of you to step into my circle. What did you think you could do, after I trounced you so handily last time?”

“Shut—up,” Evett growled. “What’s your problem? It’s been a thousand years, and you still can’t leave Neopia alone.”

He’d retorted unthinkingly, saying whatever came to mind, but his words were met with a deadly silence. The eye staring at him was sour, rotting from the inside out with desire. “What dreams have you had in your low existence?” said Jahbal coldly. “What heights have you seen? When you have the power of an emperor, then you will know what it is to command a nation. In your next life, perhaps.”

Evett was finding it difficult to think now. He was so tired. His magic was almost gone. Was this what it had been like for all those Neopians slain by monsters in the past millennium? A last gasp of hopeless fatigue, a last moment of impotent regret, and then nothing? What an ordinary way to go—erasure on the passing whim of some faceless, ageless ruler. He almost envied it. It hurt to admit, but an ordinary existence had never been his lot in life, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

He gathered his wits and forced himself to focus. There was still something he could do. He was linked to Jahbal now, much like the monsters were. Of course it was Jahbal who had the advantage, but even so there was a tiny gap in that dark space: a gap through which Evett could, if only faintly, sense his enemy’s heart. In his vanity Jahbal had let his schemes slip through the cracks.

Evett took a deep breath and spoke at last. “You thought Sunnytown would be an easy victory, didn’t you?” he said. “You sent out an army in haste. But it’s been hours, and the Guild is still out of your reach. Even the little hoard you’ve gathered here has been discovered.”

Jahbal laughed again. “Bold words. Do you not realize I have you at my mercy?”

 _No, you idiot, it's not about me._ Jahbal was right—Evett didn't have a dream. But there were those in this city who did. He fought back the fear and met that terrible gaze head-on. “Sunnytown will win this battle. That much is obvious. No one here is going to bow to you, the way they used to. You've overreached, Jahbal.”

No answer.

Seconds passed. The darkness began to shudder, like waves of black drapes perturbed by some passing gale. “Overreached…? Overreached, say you? _You_ , who couldn’t so much as lay a single finger on me!” Jahbal roared. “This backwater village is nothing to me. I could destroy it with a thought! And I _will_ , starting with you and every worthless bone in your body!”

Evett could hear far-off commotion and voices. The weight on him seemed to grow lighter. _Tylix, what are you…_ But Jahbal’s anger was boiling over, filling every corner of his battered mind. His consciousness began to flicker. He sensed the movements of Jahbal’s creatures scattered throughout the city. They were rushing to the Guild, filled with their master’s craving for power. There were so many of them. But then he saw the defenders of Sunnytown waiting for them: brave, stalwart soldiers who readied themselves uncomplainingly for the final assault. And Rikti… Rikti was there too. All of them were stronger than he would ever be. Nothing was impossible. There was hope after all. Hope for others, if not for himself.

It was not a happy feeling, but it pushed Evett on. Fire kindled in his soul once more. Who gave a damn about his own desperation for life? He had others to care for, other lives to shield. He raised himself slowly upward. And the darkness, the eternal gloom of Xantan’s cave and the Haunted Woods and every other prison he had known, receded.

Jahbal’s rage was a storm. Evett’s mind buckled under its weight. Something was about to give. “You… _You!_ ” screamed Jahbal. “I know what you are now—another abomination from that accursed place! There should have been no more—you—you loathsome—“ The air in the cellar seemed to warp and crackle. Evett’s link to the Two Rings was stretching to the limit.

Then, with another sudden snap, it broke. The evil grip around him vanished. The darkness of his inner world receded into a more familiar gloom. He gasped and tasted air. For a moment he lay there, utterly exhausted. Only the strangely cold air kept him awake. Finally, shivering, he opened his eyes.

Beneath him was the crude magic circle. Its lines were broken by deep icy fissures that ran all over the floor. Each one had carved the wood two or three inches deep. “No way,” said Evett. He looked around weakly. The rest of the circles, also ruined, had lost all their power. Treasure and dead monsters were scattered everywhere. And lying facedown in the center of the room, with ice radiating out from him on every side, was Tylix.

Evett struggled to his feet and ran to his friend’s side. “Tylix! Hey!” The Kacheek was passed out, his fur frozen stiff. Had he really...? Evett couldn’t believe it. Slinging Tylix over his shoulder, he began to stumble out of the room.

But just as Jahbal’s voice disappeared from his mind for good, he heard that final word:

“—dissonance.”

* * *

Sunnytown’s central district was in chaos. Monsters flooded every corner; fires rose up on every block. Through the smoke Rikti could see the Guild on the top of the hill, its white walls like a beacon in the night. At its foot was a roiling cloud: Jahbal’s servants and Sunnytown’s guardians, locked in a ferocious final clash. Rikti steadied his nerves. He had to get there in time.Rikti had to get there in time.

Flying was out of the question, so he ran. He swung his sword in brisk motions about him as he went, caring more for speed than anything. There was no joy in this infinite madness. But even through the pain, the hopes and dreams of so many others were with him. Who could give up at a time like this?

Up the twisting road he ran, never letting his eyes stray from the Guild. It drew nearer and nearer until, at last, he was looking up at its great facade. It was just above him, ringed with hundreds of monsters and Neopians. The marble steps and green lawns and fair pavilions were overrun. There was no formation to speak of—every soldier fought for himself and his own cause. Rikti was one of them now. He shook his head and jumped into the fray.

In an instant time seemed to slow. Light and reason vanished from his head. He was wading in a vast ocean of foes, striking every droplet in its turn. His sword rose and fell with the tide. His heartbeat sang in his ears. Faces and weapons passed before him, bursts of color that soon faded out of sight. Noises and cries echoed off the walls and soared in the tumultuous air. Blood, his or someone else’s, poured down his face. His senses were overwhelmed until it was only his arms that had the strength to move. But they _did_ move. He would not lose, not while there was still a chance.

When he thought to look around him again, he saw that he was in a clearing surrounded by fallen foes. His back was to a pillar and his sword was in his hand, stained but still upright. Only a few days ago he had stood on these very steps with Evett and Tylix. It felt like a distant memory.

He sat down for a moment. Over the tops of the soldiers’ heads and the enormous dome of the Guild he could see the moon, the stars, and beneath them a glimpse of the horizon. Was that the ocean? What a sight. Rikti leaned his head on the pillar and smiled. For a while he just looked out wordlessly at the sky and listened to himself breathe.

Rikti remembered one night, a few weeks back now, when he and Evett had made their camp in the fields outside Neopia City. The grass had been damp with evening rain, and Evett had lit a fire to warm him. Then they had gone to sleep together under the same calm, clear sky. Had it looked as beautiful back in those days, at the very start of his journey? He didn’t think so.

“The smoke will clear,” he said to no one in particular. “It always does.”

He stood up and dusted himself off. The wind was changing. All around them monsters were rushing forward, cutting and striking with newfound strength. More of them appeared from every side. Howls and screeches pierced the air. Some urgency was animating them—some kind of unfathomable rage.

The soldiers stiffened but held their ground. There was no doubt or question in any of their eyes; this had been a last stand from the beginning. Rikti hastened to join their ranks. The sea of foes flowed over his head. He fought on, unflinching. It wasn’t that he had no fear. He was afraid, more afraid than he’d ever been. He wondered if Mokti had made it out of the city. He wondered if his friends were hurt. He wished they could have been here with him. But the fear made him thankful more than anything else. He knew what he was fighting for now—not his destiny, not his pride, but his own simple choice to defend Neopia. It was a precious thing. He fought on.

The action was twice as brutal and disordered as it had ever been. But in the midst of it, even with his thoughts clouded by the fervor of battle, Rikti was suddenly aware of something crucial: _there should have been more_. Was this all Jahbal could manage? Was this all his fury was worth?

 _It’s all a trifle to him,_ Tylix had said. Rikti understood now. Though he couldn't put it into words, his restless mind seized on the truth. All of this was Jahbal’s ego. Jahbal believed Neopia was his by rights; that Sunnytown’s magic was his to capture at his leisure; that no one could stand up to him in this new era. He thought himself invincible. Ha! Rikti had learned that lesson a while ago, and it hadn’t cost him an army to do it.

The monsters’ movements slowed. Watching them, Rikti could sense Jahbal’s will flagging. Maybe no one else could tell, but Rikti had seen it. He had felt that terrible presence, and now he could feel it waver. With renewed gusto he strode forward. Somehow he took the lead, and a ragged crowd gathered behind him. And for the last time, with the smoke and ash swirling up about them, the Neopians of Sunnytown met their foes.

A while later—a hundred years later, as far as Rikti could tell—he heard someone calling his name from the outskirts of the battle. It was Evett, staggering in from what was left of the mages’ district. Tylix was trailing behind him, half-clinging to his scruff. It was hard to tell which of them looked worse.

“Hey!” shouted Rikti. He ran to them and propped Tylix up on his shoulder. “What the... you’re freezing all over! What were you doing back there?”

“I don’t know,” mumbled Tylix. His head was nodding even as he spoke. “Making poor decisions, as usual.”

“Um, I yelled at Jahbal,” Evett said. “That, uh. That happened. Then we came to look for you.”

Rikti stared at them openmouthed. They were alive. That was the important thing. He wanted to give them both a hug, but he wasn’t sure how high he could lift his arms at this point. He settled for ushering them to the back corner of a ruined parlor where they could rest. For a moment he crouched there, trying his best to warm up Tylix’s paws. “Well, good work,” he said. “I could tell something changed. Bet it was your doing.”

“Wait,” said Evett suddenly, craning his head. “Someone’s coming.”

A shadow fell over them. Footsteps crunched on the rubble. Rikti swung around, already preparing a thrust, but his movement was blocked as if by an invisible wall. Eleus Batrin was walking calmly toward them, one hand outstretched with a golden glow. He looked completely uninjured, save a few smudges that might have been a trick of the light.

“E-Eleus?” Rikti asked shakily. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t I say I would watch you?” Eleus lowered his arm, and Rikti felt the wall dissipate. “I had my doubts about you when we first met, but you have all proven yourselves tonight. You deserve to know everything.”

“Everything?” Evett said in a tiny voice.

Eleus nodded slowly. “I dare speak it only in my own abode. I will not compel you to venture there. But if you wish to take up the final challenge, you will find me in Kal Panning.”

A chill went down Rikti’s spine. He was tired of being so afraid all the time, but it seemed things were only getting worse. “The final challenge… you mean Jahbal? Uh, I’d love to, Eleus, but—“

“The gem on the staff you gave Evett was red, wasn’t it?” interrupted Tylix. Even half-slurring and glassy-eyed, his gaze was fixed on the old Kyrii. “But the magic you just used has a yellow tint. Why do you have a shock talent? And why is the Ghost City your abode? Something’s not right… Eleus.”

Rikti froze. In his exhaustion he hadn’t even noticed. There was a long silence as Eleus returned Tylix’s stare. Then with an inhale he drew himself up to his full height. In the gloom of the wrecked parlor, his silhouette was that of a king: the stern, unbending backbone of a nation. He stood and faced the trio head-on, as if daring them to speak again.

“That’s not the Eleus I know,” Rikti murmured. A thought was dawning in him. He remembered the noon light on the little porch in the smithy. The tears in the old codger’s eyes. “Eleus is… he’s always a little sad. Thoughtful. Looking back at things the rest of us can’t see. You’re not like that. I don’t think you’d look back for anything.”

“Your insight is keen,” said the one who faced them. His voice, suddenly stripped of Eleus’ reedy tones, rang out like a bell. “Yes, I do not look back. I have done so only once, to my great detriment. The time has now come for the river to flow on, and for myself to drown beneath it.

“If you go to Kal Panning, then you will know.”

There was no malice in that voice. Rikti could feel none of the oppressive dread that had struck him that night in the Temple of Roo. But the note of pride—the calm clarity of utter power—was the same.

Without another word Eleus, or whoever he was, turned and walked away. The trio watched him shuffle down the road. His back was bent once more, and he looked every bit the harmless old loremaster he had seemed to be. Soon his form vanished beyond sight. He was heading east, into the quiet land where the sun would rise in a few hours’ time. Never again would that clear voice be heard in Sunnytown.

Of all this Rikti only understood a little. The hours of tears and pain were beginning to overwhelm his mind. But he could still move. He could still hold a sword, and that was enough.

“Are you going back out there?” asked Evett.

“No, I’m not.” Rikti crouched down, unfastened his cloak, and laid it over Evett and Tylix. “I’m going to protect you.”

Tylix gripped his hand. “Thanks,” he said sleepily. “It’s… warm.” He was half-dead and cold to the touch, but Rikti felt the light and love coursing through his palm.

The ruined parlor was still but for their quiet breaths. It was a little island of peace. Rikti stood and held his sword up before him. Clear starlight glimmered along the blade. Out there, the wind was changing. The fires were going out one by one. When the sun came, it would shine on a field of victory.

* * *

A week had passed. The breeze was cool and dry over the ocean, bringing with it a reminder of winter. The sun was shining just as Rikti had promised. The smoke had blown away, the fires were extinguished; Sunnytown had reclaimed its name.

It had been a hard-fought battle, no doubt. The mages’ district was burned beyond recognition. The east gate was in tatters. The watchtowers and shelters that had kept the Neopians of the city safe for generations lay in ruins. And there were many among those Neopians who would never pass through the little shops again, or stand on the banks and fish, or come home to a warm hearth and a song. Even for a city accustomed to such things, that loss was hardest of all.

Rikti and Evett sat on the dock, swinging their legs. The abandoned shipyard where they had practiced was now a sprawling sickbay. Healers rushed from cot to cot, and boats full of supplies crammed the water. But amid the groans and complaints of the wounded, there was a sense of determined optimism. The buzz and hubbub was more deafening than ever. Rikti wished he could summon a bit of that energy for himself. The heady rush of swordplay had long since faded, and now all he could think of was the grim task waiting up ahead.

“So we’ll leave day after next, then?” he said finally. “Are you feeling up to it?”

“As up to it as I’ll ever be,” said Evett with a sigh. He was looking better after a week of herbal concoctions, but he sounded hollow. “I wish we could stay. Help clean up, at the very least. After all they’ve done to help us…”

“Speak for yourself,” Rikti retorted. “I’ve spent the past five days stacking crates!” Well, he _had_ gotten off rather easy. A torn wing wasn’t much compared to Evett’s second confrontation with Jahbal in as many weeks, or Tylix’s arms practically frozen to his side. Speaking of which—

“He’ll be fine,” said Evett, catching Rikti’s sidelong glance at one of the cots. A certain Kacheek was still sleeping there, swathed in bandages. “The apprentices will take care of him. Don’t worry.”

“Me? Who said I was worried? You know, I think it’d take the sky falling to keep him down.” But Rikti couldn’t help chewing his lip. Tylix’s pallor still didn’t look quite healthy. He’d done a lot for Evett and Rikti, so much that Rikti couldn’t even understand why. And now they were going to leave him behind.

They’d discussed what Tylix had told Evett during the battle—about the visions going away. Rikti was certainly glad to be done with them, not that he’d ever grasped them in the first place. He still felt revolted at the thought of seeing Swampedge City up in flames again. But he wondered how Tylix felt. Those dreams had been more important to him than anything.

“What am I talking about?” he muttered. “I bet he’s glad to be rid of all this. And he deserves some peace and quiet, anyway.”

“He does,” said Evett wistfully. “And in any case, we don’t have time to wait. If Jahbal launches another attack, Neopia won’t be able to fight him off. We’ve got to go east and figure something out.” But even as Evett spoke he seemed to shrink. There was something off about him. Was it his eyes? Or the color of his pelt? He looked… paler.

Rikti tried to give him an encouraging look. “We’ll manage somehow. Eleus, or whoever that was, will have an idea. Anyway, we ought to be ready for the journey. How are your knees? I’m no mage, of course, but I’ve been thinking it’s your stance that’s holding you back…”

He began to lecture Evett on his motions. There was plenty to go through, seeing how sloppy Evett had been from the very start. But even this, his second-favorite topic in all its comforting familiarity, didn’t quite feel the same. He couldn’t help but turn to the cot again. Thinking, wishing, hoping for that irritating presence.

Then he blinked. The cot was empty.

“Stance?” said a self-righteous voice from behind him. “Well, this sounds useful. Why didn’t you tell me about this _before_ I blasted my limbs to pieces?”

There he was, standing on the dock with his arms folded. The bandages swirling around him in the breeze made him look like some hideous Babaa. “T-Tylix!” Rikti cried. “What are you doing? I thought you were sleeping!” He stood up and grabbed Tylix by the shoulders, expecting him to fall at any second.

“I woke up,” said Tylix, as if it were obvious. “I couldn’t just let you two stroll off alone, could I?”

“Yes! You could’ve!” Evett said plaintively. “You’d be free. You wouldn’t have to put yourself in danger anymore!”

“You decided _now_ was the time to be considerate?” Tylix bellowed. “I’m coming along, like it or not!”

The nurses shushed him sourly. He straightened up and, slowly, his face sobered. “Also… you know what happened with the dreams. They’re gone now. I’ve got to find something else.”

He sounded so very much unlike himself. “Are you sure?” said Rikti. “I mean…”

“I’m not sure of anything anymore,” Tylix admitted. “But I realized during the battle… I’ve changed. If there’s any hope at all to avert the future I saw, then it’s with you. So—I guess I’ll trust you instead.”

He blushed furiously, but he was also smiling. It was the purest smile Rikti had ever seen from him. “I’ll try and achieve my dream another way,” he went on. “Though I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

 _He’s so annoyingly persuasive._ Rikti let go of Tylix’s shoulders and coughed to hide his sudden flare of emotion. “Oh. Well, I don’t mind. Welcome back.”

“We’re glad to have you,” said Evett. His gaze was so soft. There was something behind it, some terrible sadness, that Rikti couldn’t see. “You’re a real friend.”

“And you know what that means?” Rikti interrupted loudly. “Get back in bed and take your medicine! Don’t even talk to me about your stance till you’re in tip-top shape.”

“For your information, I’m a model patient,” Tylix said with a huff. But he complied and left the dock with a cheerful wave, his bandages trailing behind him in a soggy procession.

“What a guy,” said Rikti, unable to bury the warmth in his voice. “Hey, Evett, mind getting me some supper? I think I’m back on crate duty now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Kids these days, so lazy…”

“How old _are_ you?!”

And the three of them turned and went their separate ways. At long last they knew what was ahead of them, and what it was they had to do. They wandered in their thoughts: the infinite worlds of their own making, the mists that no eye could pierce.

Rikti occupied himself with strategies for the coming danger, full of foolhardy fears and hopes he could never quite shake off.

Tylix’s mind turned to all the friends he had made, and the golden light that shimmered at the edge of his sight.

Evett tried in vain to remember the name of his hometown.

Worlds were converging. Thoughts were becoming one. Two days from now, the last stage of their journey would begin.


	10. Origin

Oh… this again. This stupid memory.

 _Whoa, what a creepy cave,_ said a distant voice far beyond his sight.

 _What did you expect?_ came the tart reply. _I mean, this_ is _the Haunted Woods._

_Let’s have a look around! Y’know, unless you’re scared._

_N-not me…_

Voices. Echoing footsteps. A lantern shoved into his face. The darkness of millennia fled before him. _Ah! The Ghost Lupe! …Oh wait, you’re just a lowercase-g ghost Lupe. What’re you doing here?_

It took him a long while to remember how to speak. “I… uh…” He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He…

 _Nice work, Foffi. First you drag us off into the forest and now you’re disturbing the poor._ Some mumbled apologies. _Hey, mister, we’re sorry for bothering you. Do you want some snacks?_

He took the proffered candies and ate slowly. Strange. He’d forgotten he could do things like that. He’d forgotten light, sound, touch… all of those wonderful things. A long-buried desire bubbled up in his heart.

“I need… I need to leave.”

_Leave?_

_“_ Please.” His voice was coming back to him. “It’s been so long.”

The children whispered to each other worriedly before speaking again. _The Soup Faerie can help you. Here, we’ll show you the way. Have you ever been to Neopia Central?_

They lifted him up and guided him down the passage. But already the spark of hope was fading. It was no use. There was no way out of here, he knew. Time had made the paths too narrow. Even if the children could crawl through those crevices, it was beyond him.

Then one of the children placed her hand on the rocks. They trembled in place and then moved all at once. The passage widened. The Lupe watched in amazement. Was it… magic? It reminded him of something he’d seen long ago.

_Oh, this? Just a faerie blessing. Comes in handy for exploring caves. Cool, huh?_

_Quit your bragging already! You’re scaring him!_

They stepped outside. It was a moonless night, and the only light came from the children’s lantern. None of it felt real. He looked around the forest fearfully. This place… what was this place? What was he doing here? Why had he come here? Why, why—

_Hey, don’t worry. It’ll be okay._

_A warm meal makes everything better. That’s what my mom always says._

_Right! And then the Soup Faerie can find you a house or something, and you can buy some new clothes._

“But… I’m a…”

_A ghost? I mean, I think it’s a good look. If you really wanted to change it, though, I hear basic paint brushes are dirt cheap._

_Yeah. Then you’ll just look like an ordinary Neopian. Boooring…_ They went on chattering as they walked. He followed them in silence.

A hand pointed into the distance. _Look! There it is._ Above the treetops, far away in the night, was the glittering of a thousand lights. So that was the city. Neopia Central.

The open air was terrifying, and the white sheen of his fur felt like an abomination. He wondered if he should have stayed in the cave. But he could not turn away from the sight of the distant city. It was instinct, pure hunger, that drove him onward. Nothing more. Chasing the life of an ordinary Neopian, the life everyone had by rights… how could anyone call that a dream?

* * *

“So you really mean to leave,” said Rys. “I guess we should’ve seen this coming.”

The five apprentices stood at the city gate (or what was left of it), watching as Evett, Rikti and Tylix checked over their bags. The apprentices had been running errands around the infirmary at the docks for a while, and of course they had taken special care of their friends. But the trio had kept their plans to themselves.

Tarwin folded his arms. “I bet you didn’t tell us because you thought we’d stop you. And you’re right! What are you thinking, going out there at a time like this?”

“Well—” Tylix began timidly. He hadn’t thought they would care at all. Clearly he’d made another misjudgment.

“It’s too dangerous,” said Kuent. “Tylix, you’re not even healed yet. It’s too soon for you to be up and about.”

Leir sighed. “It’s too soon for all of you. There’s still so many things to do. We wanted to go down to the port and have fun together. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I wanted to. I really did.” Evett looked down at his feet, almost glaring. “It’s just—there’s something I have to find. And they're coming with me to help me find it.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Anise watched them keenly. She had had that same look on her face before the battle, Rikti remembered: straightforward, a little too sharp, but infinitely understanding. “You really are so much more than we thought,” she said. “I suppose the rumor’s true, then.”

The other apprentices gave her scandalized looks. But to their surprise, Rikti nodded. “We’re going to stop him. He’ll never burn down another city, not if I can help it.”

His voice wavered a little. The noise of the passersby echoed glumly. The sunlight faltered, and the distance between the three adventurers and the five apprentices felt like an abyss.

At last Tarwin cleared his throat. “Fine! I don’t care what you crazy adventurers get up to,” he said with an effort at cheer. “But just so you know, I’ll be expecting a full report when you get back. And publishing rights!”

“Get in line!” Rys shot back, punching him playfully. “You think I’m gonna pass up the chance to write a ten-volume series on the _saviors of Neopia_?”

“You’ll have to wait for Master Denethrir’s twenty-volume series first,” said Tylix. “He’s probably got a contract for it drawn up already.”

The group dissolved into laughter. They all relaxed a little. “I’m glad you’re doing better, at least,” Leir told him. “We never knew you well, but after what we’ve seen of you, I wish we had.”

“It’s Evett and Rikti, really. I’ve never been much.” Tylix scrunched up his face, trying to stop his voice from shaking. “But if—if I get back, we’ll go to the port. We’ll have fun, all of us. How does that sound?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Leir. He folded his arms. For a while he looked them over, as if trying to come up with one last objection. Then he smiled and shrugged, with an air of finality.

“Good luck out there, you three. Good luck, and goodbye.”

The five apprentices retreated into the crowd. Tylix watched them go. Kuent, Rys Virn, Leir, Anise, Tarwin… To his own surprise, he remembered every name.

Then he and the others turned and trudged through the hole that had been the gate. They passed under the shadow of the crumbling wall, and in an instant the shining port of the west was gone. All of its joys and sorrows had passed into history.

“Goodbye, Sunnytown,” said Tylix. He gave it a long look. His home, the house of learning, the place that had brought him up. Goodbye for a time—goodbye forever. He peeled off the bandages around his arms and let them fly away in the breeze.

Now the trio turned away and looked to the east. Ahead lay their destination. To the southeast was rolling farmland, a patchwork of greens and yellows half-hidden in the dawning light. Those were fertile pastures, and quite well-guarded even now. Just north of them was an inscrutable violet shroud: the ancient wood known as the First Forest. And beyond it, to the northeast, was a land that poets had once called the fairest in all Neopia. It was the Valley of Song, home to Kal Panning and the Two Rings.

Tylix knew the terrain here well; Denethrir’s myriad expeditions had made sure of that. If they followed the east road as far as possible, they could make it to the valley relatively quickly. But that road went through a desolate ravine, and Tylix thought it would be too difficult. The alternative was the long forest path—which was of course no less dangerous, what with the monsters and the impenetrable darkness.

He decided on a middle route: they would take the east road through safe pastures, and then turn north to the forest at the crossroads. There were fewer monsters there, since they tended to congregate on the western side near Sunnytown. And it would be an easier walk than the ravine, to boot. Rikti and Evett concurred, and wasting no more time they set off to the southeast.

It rained all that day and most of the next. Soon the road dissolved into a parade of mud puddles, and Tylix grew tired of hearing the rhythmic squelching of his shoes. A heavy mist was in the air, hiding the otherwise lovely countryside from sight. The evenings were no less morose. They hunched in groves or under rocks or wherever they could find cover. Even with Evett’s magical fire to give them warmth, no one could quite find the energy to speak. A premonition of danger was creeping up on all of them. And the edge of the forest was always nearby.

Tylix was certain Evett was glowing now. Though faint, it was a little disturbing to look at. “Evett?” he asked one night.

“What now?” said Evett, a bit snappishly. He’d been sullen for a while now, but as the days wore on his mood seemed to be getting worse.

“Well, it’s… haven’t you noticed?”

Evett merely grunted and turned away. Tylix and Rikti exchanged a glance. Somehow they’d become allies in this odd atmosphere. In any case, there was no point pressing him further. Whatever the truth was, it would soon be known. Time was winding down to the end.

After two monotonous days, they came to a crossroads. Here there was a maze of roads going on northeast and south, traipsing through the hills to far cities and pastures. Those were well-traveled by merchants and farmers alike. But one path, so little-used it was little more than a slight depression in the grass, went north and disappeared under the eaves of the forest. That was their destination.

Silently they followed it, and at once stepped into the shadows. There they stopped for a moment to marvel at their surroundings. Even in the wan light, this was an unbelievable place. The trees’ enormous trunks went up two hundred feet at least, stretching arrow-straight into the sky; their leaves, a striking shade of violet in the autumn, fluttered down to the ground from high above. The air was cool and damp, disturbed only by the faraway cries of beasts wandering in some distant glade. And all around, though the sun might shine outside, the forest was dark. Tylix felt as if he could stare into it forever and never plumb its depths. The First Forest, cradle of Neopian civilization, was a world unto itself.

All day they walked among the trees in silence. The road wore away quickly, so they did their best to go straight northeast. Tylix was at the back. He spent most of the time scribbling notes as he went; though he’d been here with Denethrir and Margoreth before, they had never stayed long. Something about the land seemed to repel normalcy. Even the flora were unlike anything else on the continent. He wondered what had happened here in primordial days. Before the Old Times, before even Neopets themselves… it was a past no scholar could ever know.

That night Evett lit them another small fire. They ate pensively; Evett hardly ate at all, and spent the time staring into the depths of the fire. Rikti watched him worriedly. 

Tylix, meanwhile, was digging into his pack. He’d decided to leave most of his notes in his room at the lodge, but there was still a lot of stuff in here. Reaching down to the bottom, he saw something familiar: the records of his dreams.

“Oh, I meant to get rid of this,” he murmured to himself. He hadn’t thought much of it since the day he’d shown it to Evett and Rikti in Tower Gaia. After all, there had been no dreams worth recording since then. And now there would never be any more. A little sadly, he read over the entries he had made in years past. The fine, flowing script had a faded look to it now, but the emotion was still manifest in every stroke of the quill.

He had spent his whole life with only those dreams as companions. But they were gone now. He’d made the right choice. Hardening his heart, he twisted up the scroll, ready to tear it to pieces.

“What are you doing?” said Evett suddenly. “Isn’t that your dream journal?”

Tylix looked up. “Huh? Well, yes, but I don’t need it anymore. It’s not like I’m going to write in it.“

“But you can’t rip it up.” Evett’s voice was almost plaintive. “Those dreams are important to you. They mean something!”

“At this point they don’t,” said Tylix. “You said it yourself. If the path of destiny’s changed—“

“That’s not what I’m talking about! Even if they don’t come true, you spent so long guarding them. Doesn’t that matter to you? Even if they’re painful—even if you want to forget—they’re important!“

“I, um, I suppose...” Tylix wondered what had gotten into him. Evett had never cared much about the dreams before; if anything, he’d been dismissive. The change in him these last few days was concerning, to say the least. But just then Rikti stood and drew his sword. “Shh! I think someone’s coming.”

Tylix and Evett scrambled to their feet, argument forgotten. In the silence, they heard the approaching sound of growls and muffled steps. A pack of monsters had been drawn by the flames, Tylix guessed, and perhaps Evett’s voice as well. He wondered if it was Jahbal’s will that had driven this, or if it was nothing more than their primal hunger. But there was no time for further speculation. Out from the shadows came beasts leaping at them from every side: four of them, larger than anything he’d seen before.

Tylix reached under his tunic and pulled out the little orb hanging on its chain. It began to float up, coaxed by his will. He projected a sturdy pair of daggers. They appeared at once—just barely in time to block a deadly slash from the Peophin he faced. The heavy blow sent him staggering backward. Soon he found himself on the defense, fending off its swiping thrusts. Something hard met his back. With a start he realized he was up against a tree. The Peophin came at him again, whinnying shrilly. It was shockingly fast. Tylix had just enough sense to slip to the ground a second before its hooves pounded into the trunk. The whole earth reverberated from the strike.

He crawled away for a few yards and tried to recover his bearings. There was no way this monster would stay still long enough for him to land a blow, and his swordsmanship wasn’t nearly refined enough to continue the game of dodge-and-parry forever. A plan… a plan… His mind was racing, but he knew by now it never had the best ideas in these kinds of situations. All he could do was stay out of the Peophin’s way and try to pin it down with ice.

As he ran he almost bumped into Rikti, who was dueling a lumbering Skeith. “These monsters are a real pain!” Rikti complained.

“How are you doing?” Tylix asked him breathlessly, pausing to launch another few crystals at the Peophin’s flank.

“Everything’s just so slow! My thrusts aren’t the same when I can’t use my wings. If only I had some range.” Then Rikti turned toward Tylix. A calculating look came over his face. “Hey. I’ve got an idea.”

Tylix’s first reaction was one of skepticism, but he knew this was Rikti’s domain, not his. “All right, lead the way. Just tell me where to stand.”

With a pleased grin, Rikti whispered a few more things and then pulled away. Tylix backed up as far as he could, until the campfire’s light barely touched him. Rikti was drawing the Skeith and Peophin toward him. Even without his wings, he was practically swifter than sight; only the gleam of his sword as it twirled and slashed was a testament to his skill. Of course he couldn’t keep it up for long against these two strong enemies, but he didn’t have to. All Tylix needed was a straight line of attack.

He bent to the ground and closed his paw around a tuft of grass. _Focus. Focus!_ In that cellar in the mages’ district he had let his power escape him. Now he had to keep a lid on it—and keep faith in Rikti. In his grip, he felt the grass grow cold. Ice flowed through it into the earth. Shining cracks shot out in every direction. With an effort, Tylix forced them to move toward the monsters before him. They were his limbs, as strong and nimble as the ones on his body—he had to control them.

The Skeith and Peophin must have sensed his magic, because they suddenly turned toward him. Too late. The ice was lightning-quick, rushing to the light of the fire. Tylix felt his arms creaking with the strain, but he steeled himself. Magic was a muscle. This was exercise, as simple as stacking crates. Even this pain was something he could train to overcome. And so he bent his thoughts on one thing only: the place where the monsters stood. They were lined up perfectly. Rikti gave him a wink and jumped out of the way.

There! Tylix’s paws moved slightly. The orb swung in place. Jagged shards sprang up from the moving stream of ice. They curved and coiled, catching the monsters’ feet and hide. Purple blood spattered the ground. The Skeith roared. The Peophin reared up on its hooves, but it too was trapped. They were both easy targets now, for the next few seconds at least. Rikti was already dashing forward, and Tylix hurried up behind him. A swing of the sword—a spinning thrust—Rikti’s aim was unerring. They were finished.

“That was amazing,” said Tylix.

“Yeah, you were great! I knew you could do it!” Rikti replied excitedly. “But you totally forgot to keep your legs apart. What did I say about footwork?”

“Sorry! I wouldn’t dare upset our master tactician.” Tylix laughed.

Then his satisfaction turned to disbelief as he caught sight of Evett. He’d almost forgotten that there were two other monsters here—but they were already dead. Evett was standing over their bodies. He didn’t look particularly winded, much less injured. An unearthly ring of fire surrounded him, eating away at the tree trunks. He turned back, and Tylix saw the flames reflected in those eyes of his for a moment. Then they went out, and the forest descended into darkness once more.

The fight was over. The trio regrouped around what was left of their camp. “We’re all getting better,” said Rikti, sipping from his canteen.

“A lot better,” said Tylix pointedly. Evett didn’t answer.

The dream journal was sitting half-furled in Tylix’s pack, where he’d had the good sense to stash it right as the skirmish had begun. He took it out now and examined it again. Evett’s words rang in his mind. Maybe he should keep the scroll after all.

“I think you should keep it too,” Rikti said. “I know I’ve been… tough on you about the dreams before—“

“ _That’s_ putting it rather nicely,” said Tylix.

Rikti struggled to put his serious face back on. “—but I understand you better now. Even when we butted heads back then, you were always trying to do right by us. Trying to make sure someone, somewhere, would remember what Neopia was like.” Rikti shrugged. “It wouldn’t make much sense to get rid of your hard work now.”

“You think so?” Tylix smiled faintly, brushing his paw over the parchment. Rikti had a way of getting right to the heart of things. “All right, have it your way. I’ll hold onto it.” It did mean something. It was a part of him. In the back of his head, he recalled the vision of snow… no, enough of that. Hastily he rolled up the scroll and put it away.

With all that said and done, they began to prepare for bed. Then, suddenly, Evett spoke up again.

“Thank goodness.” His voice was threadbare, so much so that Tylix almost couldn’t believe it was him. “I wouldn’t want you to forget. You can’t forget.”

“Forget…?” Rikti gave him a quizzical look. “Evett, what’s going on with you lately? You haven’t been yourself, not since we left Sunnytown.”

Evett hesitated. He was staring into the depths of the forest, the darkness that no fire could penetrate. “Do you think I’m ordinary?”

“What?”

“Ordinary Neopets don’t forget things. They know who they are. What they want to do. They have names, dreams, thoughts of their own. I wanted to be that way.” He turned toward them fully. For a moment he wavered. Then his face crumpled. He bent over double and covered his eyes. “I can’t remember my home anymore.”

Tylix blinked. “Your home… the future, you mean?”

“Ever since I got here I’ve been forgetting,” he said. “It’s all gone now. Everything’s gone. My life, my history… there’s only bits left. My apartment. The city. The, the Haunted Woods...”

Rikti and Tylix looked at each other, puzzled. “H-hey, it’s okay,” said Rikti, tentatively patting his shoulder. “You’ll get the memories back. It’s just stress or something—“

“It’s not! You know it’s not!” He wasn’t shouting anymore, perhaps out of concern for their safety, but his whisper cut the air like a knife. “My bag stopped working, my magic keeps getting stronger, I’m _glowing_ for Neopia’s sake. I’m never going to get back to my time. I don’t even know if it’s real anymore!

“I never told you this, but I… I used to live in a cave. I had nothing. I had no idea who I was, not even my name.” The words spilled out ceaselessly. Tylix could hardly keep up. “Some kids found me, and—I don’t know how—I managed to get myself a normal life. I worked so hard. And at the end I thought I’d reward myself with a paint brush, finally make myself look like everyone else. Then the next thing I knew I was—I was here. And now I’ll never get back. I’ll never—”

He took in a long breath. “I mean, it doesn’t matter all that much. I love this place. I really, really do. I’ll go on fighting anyway, like I swore to. But I just don’t get it. What did I do wrong? Is _normal_ too much to ask for?”

No one knew what to say. Tylix knew nothing of Evett’s life. He knew nothing of that illusionary future, that far-off paradise where all hurts had been healed. How could he console Evett when this world they were standing in was so much worse?

_But that’s just it, isn’t it? As bad as this place is, it’s beautiful. We know that better than anyone. That’s why we’re here._

Evett stared at them, his eyes glistening. He seemed to read the implacable emotion in their eyes before they could say a word. Finally he stumbled forward and drew them into a hug. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for sticking with me.”

“Don’t give up hope,” said Rikti, trying to talk around a mouthful of Evett’s shirt. “There’s always a chance.”

But Tylix knew the expression on Evett’s face all too well.

He fell asleep not long after, tired from the long day. His sleep was dreamless, as it had been for a while—but then he saw a golden flicker in the darkness. The shining river of time lay before him again. The screeching music rang in his ears. He saw the twin droplets again: one flying forward, one soaring back. They came closer and closer to each other. And below them the river was changing shape. It had always had many tributaries, but they had all flowed the same way before. Now the way was forking. The water was caught between two great streams, two immense bundles of possibilities. Creation and destruction fought. The sound became deafening.

And over it all, he felt a singular force. Not a sentient will, but simply a driving truth as pure as the laws of nature. The World watched over this chaos. The World had given Tylix the gift of sight, but only to see the futures it had ordained. The other paths were as unknown to it as they were to Tylix himself.

The droplets were about to touch. Tylix heard the dissonance again. He thought he understood now. The tragedy of Kal Panning, the long years of exile, the future that had come to a hermit in a cave. Evett… oh, Evett. Who could have been expected to shoulder that burden? Who could have let it happen?

The music cut off. The final prophecy was ended. Tylix opened his eyes and gazed up at the fluttering violet leaves.

* * *

As the trio pushed deeper into the First Forest, they came across more and more monsters. Jahbal’s power was strong here, and his minions were plentiful; even without their lord’s will to shape them into an army, their natural instincts were more than enough to pit them against the three adventurers. Evett still found it hard to look them in the eye, but they were getting easier to kill. Every time he picked up Eleus’ staff, it seemed more and more like an extension of himself. His power ran into it without so much as a thought. He felt as if his paws were overflowing with magic. It came from within, from that place inside him that he had once called upon only in desperate need—but now the pit was growing. And with every brilliant explosion, every lashing tongue of flame that sent the creatures of Jahbal fleeing into the shadows, he felt it deepen.

They had been in the forest for four gloomy days and nights. The view hardly seemed to change. Whatever secrets this primeval place held, it was intent on keeping them. Rikti and Tylix admired the foliage as they walked, talking and joking between themselves. Every now and then they shot Evett worried glances. Evett himself rarely noticed their concern, or even his surroundings. His mind was a thousand years away, wandering the fading lights of a city he could not recall.

It was mid-afternoon, he reckoned, when they saw sunlight up ahead. “Is that it?” said Rikti excitedly. “Did we make it?”

“It might just be a clearing,” Tylix cautioned, but he too hurried forward. The behemoth trees parted before them. The leaves on the ground blew across their path, moved by a fresh wind. They burst out into the light.

And so they, the first Neopians to see the Valley of Song in more than three hundred years, beheld that which the world had forgotten. Behind them and on either side, curving up like a bowl, were the forested slopes in their violet majesty. Every branch and leaf shone in the noon light. The silent silhouette of a mountain ridge lay in the distance. Two of them stood out above the rest, with bitter snow-capped peaks that rose into the clouds. They curved toward each other, as if bowing in greeting. “The Two Rings…” muttered Tylix.

Below them was a ravine cut by a great river that wound lazily northward; when the light struck it, it looked like a cord woven from gold. And finally, as Evett’s eyes traced the line of the river, it came to an enormous lake. An island sat upon it, covered with something white and gleaming. He squinted. It was a ruin of metal and stone, linked to the mainland by a wide metal bridge.

With a start, Evett remembered the carved image in Tower Gaia. A shining city on a lake, surrounded by trees that stretched into the sky… “That’s Kal Panning,” he said. “That’s the place.”

The mood of the valley seemed to darken, as if the mere mention of that cursed name was enough to revive a bitter history. Tylix and Rikti stared numbly at the ruin. “No time to lose,” muttered Rikti.

They made their way down the hill and waded through an expanse of tall reeds. Halfway through, Evett turned to look back. The First Forest towered watchfully overhead. He had spent a week in that dayless land and escaped. Yet he felt that the danger now, out here in the soft light of the valley, was far greater.

He and the others dared not stop to rest. An hour and a half later, they came to the lake shore and the bridge. Nervously they began to walk across. The bridge showed no signs of decay; its fine beams and swooping arches were as pure and fine as Evett imagined they had always been. But here and there he saw signs of an ancient struggle. Blasted armor lay strewn about the balusters, and weapons had gouged the metalwork in many places. Evett peered over the railing curiously. The water was perfectly still. Nothing in it could be seen.

The bridge was half a mile long. They trudged along, looking anywhere but straight ahead. At last, though, the looming ruin could not be ignored. It was all marble and steel, a city of brilliant spires—but the spires had tumbled down now, leaving only piles of moldering rubble. There was a sort of sickly glow to the scene, a pale and ghostly hue. Evett looked down at his pelt. It was glowing too, more strongly than ever. He blanched.

He turned, only to find Rikti and Tylix well behind him. They were staggering as if trapped in an invisible current. There was a distinctively green cast to their faces.

“Wh... Are you guys okay?” exclaimed Evett.

“Are you kidding?” Rikti said. “Don’t you feel it? It’s this place. The closer we get, the more the air weighs.”

Tylix stared up at the city. “Have you noticed? There’s no moss. No vines, no weeds. Not even rust.”

He was right. This was a curse that went beyond mere malice. It stole away life itself. Nothing could grow and blossom here, not even the hardiest bud; nothing could live. Tylix and Rikti pushed onward against the wall of magical energy, struggling to draw breath. Evett began to feel a little of the pressure himself. But it seemed to roll over him; a strange calm was upon his body, even in the midst of his fear. And that in itself only made him more terrified.

As soon as they set foot on the island, it felt like a curtain had fallen behind them. The invisible miasma grew tenfold: a slippery, cloying presence that wormed through every corner of the air. Tylix and Rikti’s steps faltered. They were in the grip of what looked like terrible pain.

“This is bad,” said Rikti. Even sound seemed to wither in this place. “The curse, it’s… I thought the Temple of Roo was bad, but this is on another level!”

“I don’t know why, but it’s not affecting me,” said Evett, pulling Tylix to his feet. “You guys turn back. I’ll keep going.”

Tylix wiped his brow. “No. We came this far… we deserve answers as much as you do. This is just part of the task.” His eyes were fixed on Evett’s fur. “And besides, we wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Thanks. You’re right. I… wouldn’t want to be alone here.” The feeling of emptiness and of shuddering horror warred in Evett’s mind. Answers. Did he want the answers? He could have gone a lifetime without ever hearing those.

Before them was the gate, or what had once been a gate; Evett could see twisted fragments of metal lying on the ground amid half-buried spears and daggers. The city wall, once an exact match to the smooth white fortifications of Neopia City, was in a worse state. An enormous circular blast had torn through it, and huge bricks, as wide as Evett was tall, were scattered everywhere. The remains of wooden catapults still stood here and there, but most had fallen to pieces long ago. A threadbare pennant lay trampled in the loose soil.

Stepping over the wreckage, the trio entered Kal Panning. Once, visitors to the great capital would have been greeted by fine monuments sculpted with the boldness of a bygone age, whiling away the day beneath the kindly gaze of a thousand twinkling spires. Evett could almost imagine the sight—as great as Xantan’s Pot and Sunnytown and the Temple of Roo put together. But it was beyond reach. The monuments lay faceless and shattered, their inscriptions beaten into nothing. Whole districts had been leveled; the few buildings remaining were in ugly disrepair. Centuries of wind and rain had bleached all the color from them. Deep cracks sundered the streets, as if the earth itself rejected this abhorrence.

It was horribly silent, except for Tylix and Rikti’s labored breathing. Evett took a few tentative steps forward. He would have to take the lead here, but he hardly knew where to begin. The ruins were enormous. Every second they spent here was another second of agony and fear. Curse or no curse, Evett felt that as keenly as the others.

 _No. Stay calm. Eleus said we were ready. How can we beat Jahbal if we can’t even get through this?_ He pinched his forehead and turned to his friends. They faced him steadfastly. Even now, the resolve on their faces spoke for itself. That night in the forest, when he’d broken down and confessed to them, he’d seen it. So much stronger than him, so much braver.

He’d always been a mirror. He’d always aspired to nothing more than the lives of others. If he could just be that strong—

“Okay. Think. Let’s think. Where’s that Eleus lookalike going to be?” he said, pacing. “Got any ideas?”

“Uh, keep walking?” Rikti grunted. “If we can manage it, that is. Almost tripped on one of those cracks just now.”

“Cracks?” Evett looked down at the fissures in the ground. They had torn clean through the cobbles, exposing a foot or more of dirt and rock. What was more, they never crossed. All of them were radiating from a central point. Some seat of government, probably. A palace?

The seed of an idea began to form in his mind. He looked around, but the rubble blocked his view. Who knew if there was a palace, or if it still stood? All he could do was follow the cracks as they sloped upward. “It’s a start, at least,” he said.

They began to walk down the long boulevard. The sound of pebbles crunching under their feet was painfully loud. Ruined pillars and walls loomed up on either side, blasted bare by centuries of wind. Evett imagined shadows creeping up from every corner, and thought he heard whispers floating into his ears. A cold draft was rapidly sinking into his skin.

Rikti had his sword out, more as a cane than anything. He and Tylix were shoulder to shoulder, supporting each other. “It’s getting darker,” he said in a low voice. “Something’s covering the sky.”

Evett looked up. The sun had only just fallen from its noon height, but the light was somehow dimming. A mist was blotting it out bit by bit. As Evett watched, the chill deepened.

At the same time, Tylix let out a hitched gasp. “It isn’t… right.” He was clenching and unclenching his fists, as if trying to keep himself from dashing away. “Don’t you feel that?”

Rikti’s eyes were wide. “Keep going. We have to keep going!”

His voice rose to a shout. The two of them suddenly began to stride at a faster pace, despite their nausea. Worse than the cold, the shadows, the darkness—something terrible was pushing them. The magic of this place, or whatever it was, was stirring them up. Evett looked around in confusion, but he saw nothing. “Feel what?”

Then, suddenly, he heard a noise. A real noise, not the breeze or some imagined terror. Evett swallowed. “What was that?”

There was again. A high and screeching sound, almost like a wail borne up by the wind—one, then many. It grew into a groaning chorus.

“You really can’t tell?” said Rikti. He turned back and tugged Evett’s cloak so hard it nearly came off. “Hurry up! The curse, it’s—it’s coming for us!”

They began to run full-tilt. The crack in the ground turned and twisted endlessly. How amazing this city was, how grand its quarters were, how enormous its thoroughways and gardens. Evett was sure the ground was getting higher and higher, but he never seemed to get any closer to his destination, nor any farther from whatever invisible threat was menacing his friends’ minds. He felt something pulling at his fur, sticking to it like a stream of cobwebs. He dared not think what it might be.

Then Tylix suddenly bent double, retching. Rikti rubbed his back, shooting glances behind them. “Keep it together,” he said. “C’mon. Don’t let it get you. Can you stand?”

“This isn’t the curse,” Tylix panted. “The curse isn’t what chasing us. We’ve trespassed on the ghosts of Kal Panning.”

“ _What?_ ”

“ _A curse of strange shape fell upon the rebels,”_ Tylix recited. _“They faded and vanished thence from the earth; and became shades which all fear._ I didn’t understand what the book meant before. But it makes sense now, doesn’t it? The sickness we’re feeling isn't a curse—it's just a stronger version of the nausea we felt at the temple, the same thing anybody might feel when they walk into any spell. Nothing wrong there. No, the real curse is… that.”

He pointed. Dread struck Evett’s heart. There had been nothing there before. Nothing had been following them. But now the mist had thrown a curtain over the sun, and he could see what Rikti and Tylix had only sensed. Ghosts were rising. Nameless, faceless Neopets. They ran and walked and crawled, crying out without words. Even devoid of energy, they clung to this mortal plane. Their voices sang; their translucent bodies pawed at the earth.

Tylix gasped; Rikti turned pale. Even if they had had the strength to move, Evett was frozen to the ground. He stared as the procession drew ever nearer. Even without eyes, the force of their gaze was chilling. Evett heard their pleas, their accusations. He recognized them. He knew them. He had loved them, once. His mouth was dry with sudden fear. And then came the strange calm again, the emptiness. The realization of truth.

_A ghost? I mean, I think it’s a good look._

Those voices. It was those blasted voices, reminding him of things.

Never once had he wondered about his past. His life had begun in that cave in the Haunted Woods, that terrible place he had always tried to forget—but of course that couldn’t have been the true beginning. He had to have been born somewhere. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere. It was a memory that had long since fallen away, never to return. And yet Evett was certain beyond any doubt that it lay before him now.

The mirror turned on itself. The prison of his mind inverted. For the first time, he saw his own reflection. Kal Panning was his origin.

“I think I just figured it out,” said Evett numbly. “I’m one of them. See?”

He lifted his paw. Rikti’s tired gaze traveled to it, as if seeing it for the first time. It was shining brightly now, coated in that sickly white hue—a wispy, almost transparent shape. A faint mirage that only showed itself in the dead darkness. That was Evett’s true self. In his battered heart he almost wanted to laugh. How could those kids have ever mistaken him for the Ghost Lupe? No paint brush, no faerie spell could grant a color like this. It was uglier than anything to ever exist in that blessed time.

“Oh,” Tylix murmured. “I hoped it wouldn’t turn out like this.”

The ghosts circled around them in an infinite whirlwind of grudges. So this was the curse of the Ghost City. The curse of never forgetting, of never disappearing. Of living on and on, until the soul was smothered at last—or swept off to some far-off place.

“No! Shut up!” Rikti shouted. “You’re, you’re supposed to be from the future. You’re supposed to go back there and be happy. This isn’t your home!” Angrily, tottering on his feet, he picked up a rock and threw it blindly at the ghosts. It passed through the mist and skittered away into the shadows. The clouds drew tighter about them. The crush of evil magic was like a vise.

“What do you want from us?” Tylix said. He was still on his knees, practically convulsing, but he still faced the ghosts head-on. “What is it? We can’t do anything for you. Your time has passed away.”

The spirits had no words to speak with, only empty desire and vengeance. Everything had been taken from them. Dreams, loves, thoughts, the bitterness of defeat, the beating heart of hope—all washed away in an instant. Who could live on like that without yearning for the past? And so they came ever closer, swirling about in a dizzying array. Evett was suddenly reminded of Erick’s grand illusion. Another vision of the bygone.

The ghosts’ mournful song sank into Evett’s bones. Their enmity, their jealousy, their loneliness. Evett’s heart hammered in his chest. He didn’t want to face them. How could he? After everything he had done to free himself, how could he be dragged back here? Back to a home he didn’t remember, a terrible war that had ended a millennium ago, a curse that had pierced ten thousand hearts?

For the first time, he was looking at something of his very own. He couldn’t shrink from it. He couldn’t run into the arms of an ordinary life. That time was bygone indeed, gone into history, but it was still his. Finally he looked straight at the ghosts, placing himself between them and his friends. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I’m sorry. Please, can you let us go on?”

It wasn’t much, not after all these long years. But they understood his meaning as well as he understood theirs. There was silence for a bit. The wind died.

“Please,” said Evett again. “One way or another, all this will be done. Today, tomorrow, the day after… you’ll see a new sunset, I promise.”

His voice wavered. No one, not even a thousand-year-old shade, could have mistaken this for a real promise. But the pressure seemed to lighten.

“Let us through. We won’t disturb you for much longer. I’m asking as—as a fellow citizen. Can you let us through?”

A long sigh. A whisper. The ghosts drew back, though their gaze did not falter. And all at once the sun emerged from its shroud. Evett blinked as the shadows receded.

Rikti took a few deep breaths and stretched. With a last suspicious glance at the ghosts, he sheathed his sword. “I feel a little better now. I think I can walk.”

“What did you do?” said Tylix. “Are you all right, Evett?”

“I don’t know.” Evett bit his lip. He still wanted to turn and flee. Surely this day would only get worse. But somehow, somehow, he went on walking. This was the strength Eleus had wanted from him. It hurt more than anything.

“So this is a dissonance,” said Tylix quietly. “A great sin against the World.”

They walked up the winding road. The ghosts glided behind and above, a thin blur in the light. And a new song rose, carrying them all onward to the end.


	11. Our Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Issue 900 woohoo!

Jahbal stood on the balcony of his fortress, his gaze sweeping the snowstorm. Ice and snow were all that the Two Rings knew, here on this high peak. But there was no better place from which to survey his domain. His by rights—his by desire.

He exhaled and smiled to see his own breath take shape in the cold air. He was alive again. The thorns in his side were falling away one by one. Xantan had fallen. The Temple of Roo was in shambles. Sunnytown had been a small setback, yes, but that had only been a test of strength. Even that had nearly brought the jewel of this modern country to its knees. And Jahbal had spent the days since readying his power. On the morrow, his armies would march.

The only wrinkle was that accursed mage. That traitor who still eluded him, even now. Jahbal spat into the snowdrifts piling up about the railing. Far below, down in that abandoned valley, lay a city he had once known. Perhaps, within those walls… Jahbal scowled. That was the one place his eye would never pierce—not with all the beasts and magic circles in the world. But even if _she_ was there, it would do her no good. She was a relic. A worthless memory.

Three familiar nuisances had entered the valley today. No doubt they would come greet him soon, laden with all their heroic deeds and dreams. Jahbal turned abruptly and shut the door. And before his great mind went on to other matters, he felt a passing twinge of irritation. Dreams? Only the weak could stoop to dreaming. What Jahbal wished for, he made his own.

What he wished for…

* * *

A new wind was blowing out of the north. Evett shivered. The infinite maze of streets passed by. The trio proceeded upward, moving more quickly now that they were protected from the curse. More and more ghosts emerged from the ruins, weeping and moaning in turns. But there was a certain poise to them—something in those formless outlines that recalled what Kal Panning had been. Evett wondered if he himself was among the crowd, or if he had already drifted far away to the cave that would become his refuge. The twisting of time was a mystery to him.

“I don’t get it,” Rikti mumbled. “How did all this happen? How did Evett end up here? Why’s he a mage? What’s all this dissonance stuff, anyway?”

“I think we’re going to find out soon,” said Tylix. “Though somehow I thought it would feel more satisfying.”

“It’s not fair, is it,” said Rikti quietly, casting a glance at Evett. “After all this time…”

The crack led them up to the highest quarter of the city. At last they came to a wide, low hill. Once there might have been fragrant grass and trees here, but now it was little more than exposed rock. The cracks ran up its sides, bisecting a crumbling staircase that wound its way to the top. Evett the others clambered up, stumbling on the chipped marble. Mist blocked their sight. The ghosts’ voices led the way.

And then they reached the top: the palace of Kal Panning, the jewel in Neopia’s crown. Well, Evett assumed it must have been a palace once. Now it was a blighted wreck so complete in its downfall that the rest of the city looked whole by comparison. Everything had been blown away down to the very foundations. Destitute heaps of stone and brick were scattered in the dirt. Weather-beaten relics lay under the open air, giving up their ancient power day by day. Nothing was left of the soaring towers and splendid gardens that might have once adorned the fair capital of Neopia’s empire—nothing, save a single room.

It had once been richly decorated, though that time was long gone. A few thin tapestries still hung from the ceiling. Half the roof was missing, and the few surviving pillars were left supporting nothing but blank fog and clouds. Sunbeams came through a glassless window high up on the sole remaining wall, illuminating a single ornate chair on the dais. It was the golden throne of Kal Panning. And seated on the throne, legs crossed decorously, was—Eleus Batrin.

“Welcome,” he said. “You have had a long journey, visitors.”

Evett, Tylix and Rikti stared back at him. With a short laugh, the Kyrii stood and inclined his head. “I suppose this weaponsmith’s form is no longer of use to me. I merely used it to win your trust. For I needed to ascertain your character, you see.”

“Shouldn’t you have figured it out from all your spying?” said Rikti angrily. “You knew everything about the real Eleus and our journey. How long were you following us around, anyway?”

“I only saw glimpses—bare hints given to me as I peered into the river of time. They were promising glimpses, but I did not know then whether I could lay my terrible burden on you. Age has made me cautious.” Eleus exhaled. “But I am settled. It is time.”

The trio looked on in astonishment as Eleus’ body began to warp and shift. Slowly it reshaped itself into something quite different: a sky-blue Aisha, slender in appearance but holding herself tall and proud. Her cold eyes caught the light and shimmered. This was a great sorcerer, one with a presence that rivaled Jahbal’s. “My name is Faleinn. I am she of the Circle of Twelve. I was named the Witch of Dusk, the Shape-changer, the First Scribe. And, in latter days, the final bulwark against Jahbal. Do you know me now?”

Tylix and Rikti’s jaws dropped. Rikti looked ready to stuff his foot in his mouth. “Uh—yes—erm, Your… what was it…”

“Highness,” Tylix whispered urgently.

Faleinn coughed and relaxed, though not entirely. “Well, enough with the pleasantries. Sit down, you three.” Saying so, she sat primly on the topmost step of the dais. Tylix and Rikti hovered uncertainly for a few seconds before sitting just below. Evett followed suit. He noticed that the ghosts were gathering around on the hill, peering silently into the throne room.

“So you have grown acquainted with them,” said Faleinn. “Yes, I know them well. I am the reason they have become this way—that _you_ have become this way,” she added, giving Evett a sideways glance. “I made a grave error, and everything that has happened since rests on my shoulders alone.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I come to you from the distant past to tell you what must be told. There is little time, but all the answers you seek are here. Let me show you what happened on the last day this city lived.”

She made a smooth gesture. The scene around them vanished in a flash. Suddenly noise and color flooded Evett’s senses. He looked out upon Kal Panning—Kal Panning at war, a thousand years in the past. The throne room, its roof and pillars restored, was resplendent with banners and tapestries. Outside, Evett caught sight of gleaming metal spires mingling with thatched roofs under a cloudy sky. The snow-white wall, lined with catapults and crossbows, surrounded the city in flawless majesty. Neopets were everywhere: soldiers manning the walls, scouts flying about with messages and reports, ordinary folk scurrying to and fro on the ground. Kal Panning had the majesty of Neopia City; the wealth and vivacity of Sunnytown; even the brilliant spirit of the far-off future metropolis that Evett could no longer remember. Even in the midst of a hopeless war, it was a magnificent place.

“I was never particularly skilled with illusions, not like some at the Temple of Roo,” said Faleinn. “But this will do.” She flicked her wrist. The scene began to move.

A guard in yellow livery stepped into the illusionary throne room and made for a wide table in the corner, where several robed Neopians were gathered in discussion. One of them was a blue Aisha dressed in light armor. Her eyes glinted with the stern clarity of two brilliant crystals.

“Your Highness,” said the guard, executing a quick bow. “The materials you asked for have been gathered. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. We will begin this evening once preparations are complete.” Illusion-Faleinn looked tired, but she tucked her silver hair behind her ear and gave the guard an authoritative nod. “If all goes well, the war will be won before you know it.”

“Wonderful, Your Highness. All of us in Kal Panning stand with you. You’ve given us hope after Lord Rosval's fall.”

“Rosval?” Faleinn paused for a moment. If his words had stirred any emotion in her, she did not show it. “Indeed. How is the gate faring, captain?”

“Repairs are proceeding apace. The enemy is still recovering from our last engagement. We have an excellent opportunity to re-fortify the entrance.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

The guard bowed again and left. Faleinn turned to her advisers and court mages. “Well? Time is short. We ought to start the preparations.”

There was an excited chorus of murmurs. Some, though, were more hesitant. “My lady. Are you certain this will work?” asked one of the advisers.

“You dare question our ruler?” shouted a hooded mage. “Her plan is flawless! Let it proceed.”

“But the scholars all agree that traveling through time is impossible. We can think of a less risky alternative—”

“What alternative?” said Faleinn softly. “Rosval is gone. The Twelve have fallen. The Temple of Roo is deserted—by our own hand. Xantan was the greatest warrior in our ranks, and he left us long ago. Our strengths are falling away, one by one. How much loss has there been? How many allies have we abandoned in our quest for glory? We have fought for nigh on a decade with no victory in sight. The only way to stop Jahbal now is to go back in time and prevent his destiny.

“For a single mage, yes, it is impossible. Even for a mage such as I. But this is a city of fifty thousand. Just a drop of energy from each of those souls is enough to power the spell. It will work. It _must_.” She turned and faced the advisers. “I am trained in matters of state, not warcraft. But I will do anything I can to protect those in my care. That is my decision.”

Though her tone was austere, Evett could feel the intensity in her voice and gestures. She cared deeply, desperately, for the city Rosval had left her. Her advisors sensed it as well. The mage who had spoken bowed, signaling his agreement. Swiftly the others went to work sketching magic circles, bringing in carts full of strange chemicals and jewels, even chanting at the walls. Faleinn oversaw the chaos, calling out instructions.

“Perhaps that afternoon would have been better spent in the streets of the city, seeing it all one last time,” said the real Faleinn, staring at the illusion with an unreadable expression. “But of course I did not guess what lay in store. It happened just as we were beginning the ritual.”

The scene changed to evening. Waning sunlight glinted off the spires like flame. Outside, the crowds in the city showed no sign of thinning; the air was buzzing with chatter and the clanking of armor. The throne room was still in an uproar. A circular slab of wood had been brought in, etched with an elaborate magic circle. Faleinn was inspecting each line and stroke carefully. Mages hurried in with torches that burned a luminescent blue. Workers were draping the walls in heavy black fabric adorned with more mystical sigils.

“Your Highness!” called a soldier. “We’ve placed the boundary gems around the island. Will that do?”

“Good. That will keep the spell contained. Mages!” Faleinn clapped her hands and waited for the room to quiet. “Is everything else in order?” Nods and murmurs of assent. “Then let us begin.”

Now that it had come to it, an apprehensive silence fell. Only Faleinn seemed confident. The court mages gathered around the wooden circle, each grasping one of the unearthly blue torches. Faleinn stood in the center. She halted there for a moment with her eyes closed—remembering better days, perhaps, before the Circle of Twelve in all its finery had been shattered. But the moment of hesitation passed. Faleinn gritted her teeth. Twin bolts of magic appeared in her outstretched palms and shot into the wood. As one, the symbols carved in it began to shine.

Magic radiated over Kal Panning, like a shimmering golden web. And from the citizens down below came an answer: tiny pinpricks of multicolored light floating into the sky. “It’s working,” shouted one of the advisers. “The spell is working!” Faleinn said a few words under her breath. The light began to spiral inward, racing towards the palace. The gathered mages waited with anticipation. But then—

A great tumult arose from the wall. Shouts and horn blasts rang out. Just beyond the wall, appearing out of nowhere, was an army. “Your Highness—it’s the enemy! They’ve come!”

“It can’t be,” an adviser cried. “We dealt him a blow not two weeks ago. Surely he lacks the strength to muster his army again so soon!”

A scout rushed in. “It’s a small force, but Jahbal himself is at the head. He used his own magic to shield the monsters from our sight!” she reported. “The gate cannot stand against them! What should we do, Your Highness?!”

“Jahbal—is here?” said Faleinn, her breath coming in gasps. The circle was flickering. Magic filled the air with such intensity that, even as a mere illusion before Evett’s eyes, it was almost palpable. “That is not possible. He would not risk exposing himself. Not unless—“

“—he knew what you had planned.” The hooded mage, hitherto unnoticed, raised his torch high and spoke in a booming voice. “Yes, Faleinn, your council was breached by us long ago. Lord Jahbal sees your mind, and has summoned all his strength to defeat you. Now… let the true king of this land be known!” Blue flame leaped from the torch in every direction. Guards rushed forth and pinned the treacherous mage to the ground, but it was too late. The rafters were set ablaze; the black tapestries on the walls withered and burned. Horrified voices filled the room.

A tongue of flame struck the slab of wood. Faleinn doubled over in pain, but she could not move from where she stood. “Stop… stop…” Light flashed and flickered beneath her. Something was changing.

Suddenly a loud crash echoed from outside. The ground shook. Shadows were pouring into the streets. “The gate!” shouted the scout. “It’s fallen! Jahbal’s entered the city!”

“No,“ murmured Faleinn in her panic. “The spell will be… I can’t…!”

Her voice was labored. The fire was eating away at the circle, bit by bit. Every new burn made her gasp in agony. The circle was glowing more and more fiercely. Magic from all over the city was pouring into it. There was no reversing a spell of this magnitude.

Minutes passed with furious speed. Battle was raging across Kal Panning. The defenders fought hard, but they could not repel the tide of beasts. And then came Jahbal himself, bringing towers to their knees with one blow from his talons. He was destruction given form. It would take the generals an hour at least to regroup and launch a counterattack, recouping whatever losses they could. It was the desperate strategy they had used all these years. But Faleinn knew that even an hour was too long now.

“A whole sigil is gone!” cried one of the mages, limping desperately to her side. “Your Highness, the magic is out of control! We must do something—with this much energy, you will—”

The wall behind them exploded. Stones flew through the air, burying the throne room in a deafening commotion. The already-burning roof groaned and collapsed. Dust rose from the ashes in a bitter cloud. When the noise quieted, after what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing left. Only Faleinn, raising her arms at the last moment to defend herself, was left standing amid the blazing rubble. Below her were the remains of the magic circle, shining more strongly than ever. She bent over, shaking, struggling to regain her composure. Blood ran in rivulets down her body. For a while there was no sound but her strained breathing. Then with a sudden motion she righted herself and lifted her head as if nothing had happened. For at that moment came striding out of the darkness a broad-shouldered Eyrie in gleaming armor. Evett recognized his piercing green eyes immediately.

“Good, you’re here,” he said in that silky voice. But it was tinged with unmistakable alarm; he was out of breath. He knew he had narrowly averted his own demise. “Time travel? Really, Faleinn? After all the centuries I’ve known you, I never thought you’d stoop so low.”

“It would have worked,” Faleinn said. She was exhausted, hardly able to stand, but her voice was iron. The fear and desperation were nowhere to be seen now. “But you, Jahbal, are a fool.”

“You gambled on an old wives’ tale and paid the price of your naivete. I fail to see how this is _my_ fault, old friend.”

“I never said it was.” Faleinn’s lips twitched into a wan smile. “Jahbal. You have about a minute left, I think. If you leave now, the World may be spared.”

“—What are you talking about? I’m in no mood to bargain.”

“Let me be plain,” she said. “I powered this spell with a sliver of energy from every living thing in Kal Panning. That would have been enough to travel back, oh, a year or so. A ripple in the river, but a small one. Yet the spy you placed in my court wisely decided to destroy part of the circle. It is out of balance, gathering energy beyond my or anyone’s control.”

Jahbal’s eyes traveled to the burnt etchings. His perfect countenance shifted. “That—that can’t be.”

“Furthermore, you—the strongest mage to ever grace this continent—are here, along with thousands of your demented creatures. The energy within range of my spell has increased a hundred times over. Do you understand, Jahbal? This will create a dissonance.”

Jahbal understood. His face was purple with rage. “Was this your plan?” he roared. “To risk _time itself_ just for a chance to best me? I don’t believe it. I refuse to believe it!” But then he stooped to the ground. He was losing energy too, and quickly. There was an audible buzzing in the air. Something was about to snap.

“Of course it was not my plan,” she said calmly. Her voice was very distant. “As always, you were the disruption. It seems this is the end.”

“The _end_? Ridiculous!” Jahbal hissed. He staggered towards her, a crazed look in his eyes. “A dissonance is—is but a pittance to me. Just a quirk in the books of those blasted scholars. Your absurd schemes will come to nothing!”

His talons sank into the charred wood. His eyes met Faleinn’s. She gazed down at him. There they were, the last of the great sorcerers, alone in a bleak and empty ruin. Floating above them was a vile cloud of magic: the collected energy of everyone in Kal Panning, down to the very bones. Everything had been taken. Nothing was left. No armies battled for dominance at the gate; no monsters scaled the walls to duel with their sharp spears; no Neopians fled down the wide streets or hid in their little homes. Even the blue flames had gone out, their vitality sapped at the spell’s command.

“Remember when we first came here all those centuries ago?” said Faleinn finally. “The twelve of us. We were just wandering the forest, fresh off our latest victory, and we stumbled upon this beautiful place. And I called it—”

“Yes, yes, the Valley of Song,” hissed Jahbal, his voice dry and bare. “You and your ridiculous sentimentality.”

Faleinn ignored him. The cloud was coming closer, descending in a spiral towards its keeper. She stood unbowed. “The Valley of Song. Because you could always hear something—the trees rustling, the water lapping on the shore, the wind rushing over the grass. The music of the World. Do you remember that day?”

“This is not over, Faleinn. I will return.”

He took a shuddering breath. Night had finally fallen. For the first time in all the years Faleinn had known it, since that far-off day when the great capital had been founded and all the legends had sprung to life, the valley was silent.

“Do you _remember_ , Jahbal?”

The silence grew into a chasm.

“…Yes.”

A piercing sound, like wind coming through a tiny crack, rose into the sky. All at once, the magic rushed into Faleinn. Fissures shot through the earth. Jahbal was gone, his unbodied spirit fleeing back to the safety of the Two Rings. His magic had been stolen from him; never again, not even after a thousand years, would he recover the strength that had made him great. The ground shook. Everything was compressing down to a single point. The lives of thousands—no, tens of thousands—were bound up in Faleinn’s palm. A blinding light flashed once, twice, like lightning with no thunder to follow it. Then, finally, the magic circle burst into pieces. Faleinn fell down on her knees, crumpling like wet parchment in a storm. Then she vanished from sight. The scene went dark.

Evett blinked. He was sitting in the ruins again—the real ruins, the millennium-old husk of that once-dazzling throne room. It was still light out. The mournful ghosts stood outside, peering in blankly.

“That is a brief summary,” said the present Faleinn. “I hope it served you well.”

Evett had expected to feel something. Some sort of memory, some cobwebbed emotion. After all, this place was where he had lived his life. He had spent his days here, laughing and crying with family and friends, enjoying the plain existence of an average Neopian. He had witnessed the fateful day of its destruction. But there was nothing stirring in him now except a vague sensation of loss. His past was gone into the abyss of millennia.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Rikti in a small voice. “What’s a dissonance, anyway? And what’s happened to Evett? Erm, Your Highness.”

“I could explain,” she said. “But I think your bright little friend already knows.”

Rikti and Evett looked in surprise at Tylix, whose face was pale. “I saw it,” he said. “I had a dream a few nights ago. It wasn’t like the visions I used to have… I saw the river of time itself.”

Faleinn looked at him appraisingly. “Visions? So you are a natural seer. That is a rare gift.”

Tylix turned pink. “O-oh, it’s nothing, Your Highness. With all the time travel, it’s stopped working anyway. But this one was different.”

He furrowed his brow. “There was a great disturbance in the water, like throwing a rock into a pool. That must have been Lady Faleinn’s spell. All the cursed Neopians were droplets splashing up from the surface. Most of them came back down and faded away, but there was one that survived by chance. It wandered here and there, drifting all alone, into a distant world far beyond ours.” He gave Rikti a grim look. “See? This is Evett’s home. He’s from the past, not the future.”

Rikti was dumbfounded. “So it’s true. That’s why he’s becoming a ghost…” He clutched Tylix’s arm as if to shake the answers out of him. “How did he end up _here_? Is that the dissonance?”

Evett was too drained to think. He was tired of answers. But Tylix went on. “It’s like the book in Tower Gaia said: dissonances are great sins against the music of the World, and the World punishes them. Faleinn’s spell must have been a great sin. Evett living for thousands of years might have been another. So him coming here would be the punishment. Why, I don’t know.”

“You are quite right.” Faleinn leaned forward. “In that single second when Kal Panning was destroyed, I saw the river of time much as you described it. I saw its shape as it traveled into the future. I know little of that era, but it is one where our magic does not exist.”

“Ah, right, Evett talked about that before,” said Rikti. “He says he’s got faeries, or something.”

“Indeed. The nature of magic will change. It is the gift of Neopets alone: when they forget it, its very potency will wither. Even my curse, mighty as it is, will lose its grip. The World will be imbued with new powers that we know not. And a single Lupe, the last living thing still tainted by the old ways, will come into contact with them.”

“The paint brush,” Evett muttered in disbelief. 

Faleinn shrugged. “The wonders of your time are beyond my understanding. But that meeting of old and new—the primal energies of this planet—is impossible. It is the utmost contradiction of the passage of time. Though the World had hitherto overlooked the small fact of your existence, _that_ dissonance was enough to cause a reaction. It flung you into the past; the exact year was of no concern, so as long as you were no longer a bother. And it began to strip the future away from you.”

Strip the future away. So this was his natural state, then. He was to become a faceless void, a creature of mist haunting the wind. How much longer did he have? When would the World make its final pronouncement of doom?

“But he can do magic,” said Rikti. “Really well, too. Did the capital-W World arrange that?”

“If I may guess, it was always there,” said Faleinn. “Kal Panning in its last years was a city at perpetual war. All who could learn were instructed in magic. You see, even before I arrived, they were already prepared to sacrifice everything on the altar of hope.” She chuckled. It was a hollow sound that rang over the shattered rocks. “Evett, you were already capable of magic when you lived in the future, though you had not been able to use it for many years. When the World acted, it corrected this. But it is a blunt instrument with limitless strength, attempting to balance a dissonance of millennia. Your power now is the result.”

“So it really was just luck,” said Evett. He had gone numb. It was all too much. He was just the World’s plaything after all. Afraid of his own shadow, helpless to decide his own fate. That was how it had always been. Every time he had risen to fight evil, it had been for the sake of his home and his friends. But who was _he_? What did he want? What did he dream of, if not a life like any other?

Faleinn went on. “But now let me finish my tale. As you surmised, Tylix, I too am a dissonance. My spell gave me power beyond even my ability to contain. I saw the river, but I did not know where to go. I was loath to wreak further havoc on it. And I could do little, for the World would surely correct itself and send me back before long. Then—I saw you three.”

“Us?” said Rikti, perplexed.

“Yes. There was a single point in the river that looked strangely uncertain. A rock wedged in the stream, to speak metaphorically. The water was muddied, and many paths split from it. I looked, and I saw for a brief moment your meeting with Eleus Batrin. Your battle with Xantan—“ she made a complicated face “—and with Korabric of the Institute. And I perceived that I was not the only ripple. There was hope that others could right my wrongs.

“This is the crucial moment, you see. The natural fate of this era was ordained by the World: a time where Jahbal plunges Neopia into ruin, a time where the survivors claw their way back up to civilization, a time where they live in peace and forget the struggles of their ancestors. But our meddling has erased all the old possibilities. If you defeat Jahbal, the ruin long foretold may be averted.”

They all met her gaze, even Evett. He had to fight. There was nothing new about that. He was resigned to it, one way or another. And he did love this world, whether it was his or not. That, at least, was something he could take pride in.

“What about you?” Rikti protested. “—Your Highness, I mean. Will you help us? Last time we faced Jahbal, we could barely keep up with him.”

“Because you only know of his legend. Yes, he was an invincible terror once. But now he is but a fragment, a ghost like all the rest who has clawed his way back to some semblance of form. You need not fear him, so long as you are daring. He is arrogant—it was his strength, and it will be his downfall.” She tilted her head back, lost in an old memory. “As for me… it took everything I had to reach this time. I am resisting the World’s efforts to remove me even now. In my current state, a mere gust of wind could erase me. And once I have finished this little speech… it will. I shall return to my era, and succumb to the same fate that befell Kal Panning. That doom is certain.”

“No…” said Tylix. “You’re the last of the Twelve. One of the great…” But then he stopped. Maybe he was remembering Erick.

Faleinn’s face softened imperceptibly as she looked over them. “Great? Do you think so? I would have said the same once. Standing on this dais, seeing a crowd of upturned faces, I would have believed in my strength. But greatness means nothing. Long life, wisdom, a blessed fate—all of it burned to ash. We trampled Neopia underfoot, and we betrayed its trust. Fools, every last one of us.”

“But you were heroes! We still remember you!“ Rikti burst out, forgetting his manners again.

“A hero need not have fame. The hearts of the small, the simple bonds you share, are enough. That was all that my companions and I had long ago. But we were destined to walk the path we did, until the bitter end.”

Faleinn stood and bade them stand as well. She descended to the same step they were on. Her cool, dignified gaze met them directly. It seemed to penetrate into their very souls. “Luck chose you all, not destiny, and that is the greatest gift of all.”

Though kind, her voice was terrifying in its sternness. Evett understood why Faleinn, of all the Circle of Twelve, had been the one to survive. Not with a hundred armies could Jahbal take Kal Panning. Its last queen would never submit, even after a thousand years had crumbled it to dust. This cursed land itself was a testament to her iron will.

“There is little I can do for you now, but I will give you the last of my power. With it, the shades of Kal Panning will come to your aid when you call for them. Use it when you have need.” She lifted her palm. It gave off a soft golden glow.

Trading a glance, the three friends reached out and took her hand. Power flowed into them. Rikti gasped. Evett’s fur stood on end. These were the souls of his compatriots; these were their wishes for victory, preserved just as they had been on that long-gone day. For a moment, the throne room was as warm and bright as the fragment of memory that Faleinn had brought to life.

The light faded. Faleinn let out a sigh and stood slowly to her full height. Evett realized with a start that she was disappearing. The World was correcting its errors. She looked old, unutterably old, but her radiance was undiminished.

“What a shame,” she said. “In my heart of hearts, I always hoped I would be the one to land the last blow on Jahbal. That old imbecile.”

Tylix and Rikti got up hurriedly and bowed. Evett merely looked on. Faleinn _was_ great, no matter what she said. She was a singular existence that would surely never come again. With her, the last living memory of the Old Times—of Evett’s past—would be gone. He loathed and revered her. Why couldn’t this final memory have been his family… his home… a piece of the life he’d left behind? Why this, at the end of all his struggles?

Faleinn surveyed the room with the same regal gaze she had given Jahbal. “I am the root of your troubles,” she said softly to Evett. “I will not ask for your forgiveness. After all, your sacrifice brings with it the chance for something brighter than what any of us, and even the World, could imagine. The past is behind us, young ones. You must be the ones to lay it to rest.”

She closed her eyes and vanished. There was no farewell. Tylix started forward, a shout on his lips, but only the dead air and the empty throne answered. Faleinn was gone.

The trio stood for a moment, reeling. “…That was really her, wasn’t it,” said Rikti, with a feeble laugh. “ _The_ Faleinn. If only the real Eleus could’ve seen it.” His voice sounded oddly loud in the quiet room.

“What do we do now?” asked Tylix.

Evett finally got to his feet and squinted out over the hill. The sun had sunk into the clouds, and a gloomy dusk had settled. “Let’s go. We’ve got everything we came for.” And, keeping his eyes on the decrepit towers and spires, he began the long walk to the gate.

The others followed uncertainly. Silently, with dread and conviction mingling in their hearts, they passed out of the palace. The ghosts of the city followed them as far as they could, shielding them from the lingering curse. They were soldiers and warriors; children and elders; farmers, scholars, shopkeepers. But he sensed no grudge or resentment now, only a small measure of pity. They felt his sorrow.

Evett went down the wide boulevard and over the bridge. The moon was a sliver hanging in the night sky. Its faint glimmer reflected off the lake, never disturbing its tranquil surface. Behind him, Kal Panning returned to its eternal slumber. Someday far from now it would tumble down at last, and the spirits of its last defenders would fade into nothingness. But their land would remain, come what may—their hope would remain.

The three friends made camp in the reeds by the lake shore. They had returned to the land of the living. The trees rustled; the wind whistled over the grass. So that was the music of the World.

Evett stayed awake for a while, watching the stars with Rikti and Tylix beside him. What a beautiful night. This was Neopia, the Neopia he loved.

“It’s almost the new moon,” said Rikti. “When was the last one again? In the jungle?”

“I’d clean forgotten in the chaos,” said Tylix. “It’s a shame I didn’t put together any gifts for you all.” They chuckled. Evett looked at them, puzzled.

Rikti cleared his throat. “Oh, right. Well, it’s this thing we do here. Every new moon, we give our neighbors little presents. Not that any of us are neighbors, really… or celebrating anything, but…” He trailed off. “I guess it’s a little late to be telling you about our holidays, huh.”

A piece of normalcy. A little fragment of something beautiful and simple. “It sounds wonderful,” said Evett. “I wish I could see it. I—I wish… I’d realized earlier what I wanted.”

Tears came to his eyes. “I never understood you two,” he said. “I wasn’t like you. I didn’t have a goal, or anything I cared for. I never wanted to ask myself what it was I was after…” Suddenly the dam broke. He was crying. He curled up and let the tears fall, not caring to hold them in anymore. He was driftless, homeless, not belonging even to the World itself. Everything he called his own was the wild fantasy of a ghostly hermit in a cave. It didn’t matter—it didn’t matter anymore, but he couldn’t help this one final moment of self-pity.

Amid his sobs, he heard Rikti’s clear voice. “I didn’t have a goal either.”

Evett and Tylix couldn’t resist a laugh. “What? Come on.”

“I thought I did, back when you met me. I was ready to abandon my family, throw caution to the wind, win glory on the battlefield. But it was all for a dream I didn’t even understand.” Rikti looked at Tylix, then Evett. “I understand it now. I changed. We all did—we chose to fight, simple as that. It’s always been like that in this land, and always will be.”

His voice rose into a soft melody. “ _The days and nights pass by like rain, the river meets the shore. Now turn them back to springs and mist…_ ”

“ _To waters known no more,_ ” Tylix finished. His mouth twitched into a smile. “In a singing mood again?”

“I always am,” Rikti returned. “Songs make the bad times good, and the good times better.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an alarmingly dirty handkerchief. “Here, use this.” Evett took it gratefully and blew his nose.

Tylix patted him on the back. “There. Get some rest. We’ll all look awful in the morning if we keep this up.”

Ritki groaned. “You sound just like Mokti. He’ll never let me hear the end of this.” But he was grinning despite himself.

They all shared a look between them, and then chuckled a bit. “Good night,” said Evett. “You’d better sleep well too, got it?”

“Sure, sure. Good night.”

“Good night!”

Tylix and Rikti pulled their blankets over their heads and fell asleep quickly. Their faces looked so peaceful. With all the worries of the waking world stripped away, they looked like the innocent children they were.

Evett was left by himself. His tears dried. He listened to his friends’ slow breathing, mixed in with the breeze. This too was the music of the World.

 _Promise me you’ll look after him._ The words floated into his head unbidden. He could answer them now, proudly.

“I will,” he said aloud. “I chose to fight.” Faleinn’s spell had separated him from his home; the World’s design had brought him to this time; but he alone had decided the path he walked now. He had one day to end this. One day to laugh in the face of a thousand curses. One day to use up everything the World had given him. Tomorrow was his own.

“Tomorrow,” he sighed, and for once the thought gave him not only fear but also a sense of light-headed contentment. Let the days and nights pass; let them wash over him. For the sake of the past where he had arisen—for the sake of the future he would no longer inherit—for the sake of all times and all worlds, he would face Jahbal and bring him low.

* * *

Somewhere else, a thousand years away, an Aisha lay on the shattered remains of a wooden slab. Kal Panning had been destroyed seconds ago. There was no one left to send her off.

Her ageless body was crumbling to dust. Only the power of the spell had kept those sinews in motion, and now the wounds were taking their toll. But she coughed and forced herself to sit up. She owed it to the city to see it one last time. It was much as she had expected. The debris was new, not worn and weathered like it would be a millennium from now, and it looked all the worse. Already she heard the voices of the cursed.

Nothing, not even the World, could reverse a spell. Kal Panning would always be a ruin. Though she was not given to regret and sorrow, she allowed herself now to mourn. She had failed. The Circle of Twelve had placed its trust in her, and she had failed. The generations to come would never know what she had done, but it was a crime for which she could not atone. So passed the deeds of the great.

The river of time rested in the hands of those three heroes. She relinquished her grip on it. Lying down once more, she felt strangely peaceful. Not once had she rested all these years. It seemed the World was kind enough to grant her a final moment of contemplation.

The stars were out—the same stars that Evett would admire a thousand years hence. Faleinn willed her eyes to stay open and take in the sight. That was all she needed. Just one more… one more glimpse of that precious sky.

 _The old era is ending._ The thought rose and flickered away, a last firework in that empty landscape. _May its shadow never haunt the days to come._


	12. The Two Rings

Rikti sat up and shivered. Sunrise was on the horizon, but he felt no warmth. Heavy clouds hung in the air. The mountains towering overhead were a black silhouette in the waxing light. Kal Panning, dimly visible across the smooth lake waters, crouched gloomily in the shade. Yesterday the Valley of Song had been blanketed in sunlight, like a fantastical vista rising out of time. Today it was sinking back into oblivion.

Tylix and Evett were already up. Rikti joined them to eat. The waybread tasted staler than usual; maybe it was the humidity. He missed Evett’s delicious futuristic food—what was it called again? The name was on the tip of his tongue. O... om... he couldn’t quite think of it. A sudden doubt seized him. Was this just plain forgetfulness? No, it couldn’t be. If the World could take away Evett’s memories, couldn’t it do the same to him? The question was unexpectedly terrifying.

The more immediate concern, however, was the task before him. Here, at the foot of the Two Rings, Rikti felt their weight more than ever. The craggy peaks bent towards each other, as if conspiring together. A black, spiky shape could be very faintly seen jutting out of the foot of the northernmost one. Rikti had never seen it before, but it was all too obvious what waited there.

“So… how long does it take to get up there?” he said.

Tylix shrugged. He was wearing his usual impassive expression, but Rikti knew him well enough by now to see that he was anxious. “The palace isn’t too high up. It’ll still take most of the day to get there, what with the monsters, but it shouldn’t be a hard climb.”

Evett chewed thoughtfully. The grey glow on him was stronger than ever now; the World’s laws were binding him for good. “Okay. Let’s get an early start,” he said. He stood up and stretched. Rikti and Tylix watched him nervously.

“Are you okay?” Tylix ventured.

“Never better.”

They began to walk away from the lake shore in the direction of the Two Rings. As they did, they felt the earth shake slightly. The tremors of approaching chaos were echoing not only here, but all over the continent. Rikti thought he heard faint commotion far to the south, where the ravine curved back towards the road and pastures east of Sunnytown. He looked back, but nothing could be seen over the violet treetops and sharp cliffs.

A path began to form—some brutish track made by Jahbal’s creatures to go up and down the mountain. They followed it as it wound higher and higher. Wind shook the grass. The sun was just now rising high enough to see, but even now the clouds were swooping in to cover it. Kal Panning, already below them, was covered in vague and formless mist; so too was the way before them. The air was getting chillier.

“I hope it doesn’t snow today,” Rikti said with a frown. But just as he spoke, the earth shook again. Yells and screeches pierced the calm.

“What is that?” said Evett in alarm. “I can’t see anything—“

They stopped, gripping their weapons, and strained to peer around them. The noise grew loud, deafeningly loud. Rikti struggled to keep his balance amid the quake. A mass of shadows was approaching from their right.

Tylix was already conjuring a few crystals into his paw. In a swift, silent motion he sent them forward. One hit home: the prone form of a Chia monster rolled into view. It was enormous and well-armored, with only its hideous face unprotected. “We can’t take these enemies lightly,” said Tylix under his breath. But who knew how many there were? Too many, for sure.

“Enough of this,” said Evett. “They know we’re here. No use tiptoeing.” He stepped forward and brandished his staff. Flames rose from it in a graceful arc. They seemed almost to roar as they swept the mist away. Hot winds blasted the hillside. With a cry the nearest shapes retreated, giving the trio a chance to take stock of their surroundings in clearer light.

They stood halfway up a gentle slope leading to the northern peak of the Two Rings. The grass here was thinning; a few hundred feet more and it would give way to bare rock. The path ahead of them zigzagged up that way, wide and unhurried. But it was not the path to the palace that concerned Rikti now, nor even the twenty or so monsters rushing towards him. For down below, in the dark space between the Two Rings that gave way to the Valley of Song, an army was on the march. There were too many monsters to count. Soon they would be massing on the lake shore and bridging the ravine.

“What…?” Tylix breathed. “This is crazy.” Jahbal’s evil will was at work again. They could all feel the earth straining under him, and sense the dark energy flowing from the mountain. He had spent the days since his defeat at Sunnytown preparing these beasts in fury and resentment—that much was clear. His army now was more powerful than any seen since the Old Times. The twenty monsters here, as strong as they were, were nothing more than scouts.

“Okay, great,” said Rikti, trying to stifle an incredulous laugh and not quite succeeding. “Let’s just take this one step at a time.”

He lunged at the nearest monster, a purple Techo with sickly yellow eyes. At the last moment the Techo turned, throwing up a wooden buckler to block his attack, but Rikti sliced through easily. The beasts were slower than they looked, and evidently unprepared for Rikti’s approach. Even with his wings still injured, he found their slow swipes and slashes easy to avoid. A few good hits and they were down.

Around him, Evett and Tylix were doing well. Fire ripped through the air, missing Rikti by a hair. Three of the monsters coming at him fled or were knocked out by the blast. Two more managed to block the magic, but they were thrown off balance. Rikti dispatched them with a single blow. From behind he heard Evett whistle admiringly.

A Zafara came forward, growling. Rikti feinted to his right and then swerved away elegantly as an ice crystal streaked into its startled face. Pulling back, Rikti gave Tylix a thumbs-up. The Kacheek beamed but didn’t answer: he was already bending down to the ground, orb in paw. A fissure of ice twisted speedily down the slope. It caught three more of the monsters unawares, and they scrambled out of the way. Too late. As Rikti watched in fascination, spikes shot up from the crack and punctured their armor. The monsters beat a speedy retreat. Rikti concluded that while Evett was the most powerful mage he’d ever seen, Tylix had better eyes than anyone.

Rikti, for his part, had agility on his side. While his friends kept the enemies distracted and at arm’s length, he ran in close and dispatched them. To his relief, it was a simple task. He could fight to the fullest, knowing Tylix and Evett had his back. After all the desperate battles he’d been through, he relished an opportunity to exhibit pure swordsmanship without his life on the line. These scouts were strong, no doubt, but they stood no chance.

When the last of the monsters had run off down the hill, the trio stopped to catch their breath and look around them. “Is anyone else coming?” asked Evett. He looked melancholy. “I don’t want to fight them if we can avoid it.”

“Don’t think so,” said Rikti, squinting. “I guess we’re not as important as we think.” The fog was starting to close in again, but Jahbal’s enormous army was still plainly visible. It covered the valley like an unsightly shroud. “So Jahbal’s launching his conquest of Neopia now?” he said.

Tylix grimaced. “I think so. Or maybe he’s just flaunting his strength for us. Those scouts were probably just a final test.”

“In any case, the monsters aren’t attacking us now,” said Evett. “We need to get up the mountain while we have the chance.”

He gave them an encouraging nod, as if to tell them he was all right. Rikti wasn’t sure he believed that, but it was true that they didn’t have time to spare. With an uncertain look at Tylix, he followed Evett back onto the path.

The way became narrower and steeper, cutting its way up the sides of the mountain. The grass fell away, and walls of sheer black rock towered up on either side. Rikti thought they were making progress, but he could hardly see more than a few feet around him through the choking haze. There was no sound of monsters or horns or—anything at all, save the wind and the stones scattering beneath his feet.

“The monsters living here must all be on the march,” said Tylix. “We’re in luck.” But just as he spoke, a snowflake landed on his nose. Then another came, and another. Soon a light snow was blowing about in the breeze. The trio pulled their cloaks tighter around them and went on. Up and up they climbed, hurrying over the slick rocks to the waiting palace.

Rikti wondered if the monsters were spreading south, whether they were rampaging over the southern pastures even now. He wondered if a hardy band of farmers would rise to resist them, like they always did in the legends. Someday far from now, all this might become a verse in some grand epic. The siege of Sunnytown, the battle of the southern fields, the fall of Jahbal. With a chuckle Rikti imagined himself and his friends immortalized in those mythical lines. _The heroes that toppled the last of the Twelve._

But it was only a passing thought. He was too small for the workings of the World, or even the little-w world, and he knew it. The grand stories he had grown up on, the wild feats of heroism he had always longed for, suddenly felt immensely far away. Today—this day, this hour, this one second on a snow-covered mountain—was all that mattered.

Before him was Evett, greying more and more by the minute, but taking each step with fierce certainty. Behind him was Tylix, trudging in silence, bowing his head in reflection. Together they toiled upward through the snow, fearful but unwavering. Time passed.

After a while Rikti’s fingers were so numb he could hardly wrap them around his waterskin. He was used to snow, having spent his life in the north, but he’d never had to climb a mountain in it. The wind whipped every which way, and even the modest snowfall felt like it was biting into his skin. It was hard to believe winter hadn’t even come yet. Evett and Tylix looked just as miserable. How long had it been? Two hours, maybe more?

Not long afterwards they stopped under a rock overhang to eat and drink a bit. Though they had room to stretch their legs, there was a thousand-foot drop right below. Rikti was reasonably sure his wings would hold up in an emergency, but the same couldn’t be said for his companions.

Tylix stared over the ledge. He looked—not _morose_ , exactly, but brooding. “I wish it wasn’t snowing.”

The words were so quiet that Rikti hardly heard them over the weather. “You’re not the only one,” he said, clapping Tylix on the back. “I prefer the beach, myself.”

That made Tylix smile, which Rikti counted as a win. “All right, that’s not what I meant,” Tylix said. There was a pause. He cleared his throat. “Well… you remember that dream I told you about, right? The one where you two were in the snow.” Evett shifted uneasily.

Ah. Rikti did remember. _They’re lying on the ground… the mountain is frozen… the world is frozen._ He’d shrugged it off back in Tower Gaia, but the words disturbed him more than he preferred to admit. “What about it? I thought you were done with those dreams.”

“I am, but… I keep thinking of them. I was hoping it wouldn’t snow today, so I could put them out of my head for good.” Tylix stared at his lap. “That dream a year ago was the first time I saw you. It was the beginning and the end. I was ready for it then. Now I—I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“That timeline’s gone,” said Evett soothingly. “We’re changing things. You don’t have to worry.”

“Don’t I?”

Rikti stood up abruptly. “All right. You know what, Tylix? Your dream’s gonna come true.” And he dove facedown into a snowdrift.

Evett gaped at him, apparently caught between a reprimand and a guffaw. “What are you doing?”

“Hey! Get down here!” Rikti yelled from around a mouthful of snow. “You heard me!”

“Oh, brother…” With an exaggerated groan, Evett collapsed dramatically next to him. They lay there for a bit making awful attempts at snow angels. Rikti reckoned he was doing better than Evett, but that was a low bar. Finally he poked his head out. “Well? Is the prophecy looking good?”

“Let me think… _no_.” Tylix laughed. The pure melody sounded strange in a place like this. “Get up, you two. You’re going to get soaked!”

“What? Isn’t there a drying spell for this sort of thing?” Rikti jumped to his feet and traced a few fancy lines of (imagined) Kayannin script in the air. With the last flourish he knocked himself in the head and fell back down.

“I think you’d better stick to sword-fighting,” interrupted Tylix loudly. “And for the record, snow angels only have one head!”

Rikti and Evett laughed along. For a moment Rikti could almost forget the terrible peril they were in, almost shrug off the burden of Jahbal’s presence. But as he shouldered his pack and resumed the journey, Tylix’s dreams still nagged at him. And his mind was drawn back into that whirlpool of hope and despair.

The snow fell heavier, then stopped. Time stretched out, one slow second at a time. Rikti thought he would be used to dull walking by now, but somehow the experience never quite improved. Sometimes he and the others talked, when they could hear each other over the wind. There was little to talk about.

It was several more torturous hours before they finally reached the outcropping of stone where Jahbal’s palace sat. Rikti could hardly believe it at first, but there it was: a grim stair cut into the rock, the first sign of life on the mountain since they had started up it. They stopped at the base, tired and wordless, unwilling to begin the final ascent. Only the very tallest spike was visible from where they stood, but its occupant undoubtedly knew they were here.

Rikti wondered how high up they were. He soon got his answer. As the trio turned and peered out into the distance, the snow paused and the filmy clouds pulled back. And lo and behold, there was the Valley of Song. Rikti was amazed at the distance he and the others had traversed. The valley was no more than a muddle of purple leaves and green grass and clear water. Even the crowds of monsters here and there hardly marred the colors.

Kal Panning was there too, a tiny blur on the lake. They were almost directly above it. Evett gazed at the city, then at the vale. He looked otherworldly now, wrapped in a silver shimmer. Rikti wished more than anything he could turn his friend around and march him back down to some safe enclave. Somewhere, anywhere. A place where he could live the life he deserved.

“It’s still beautiful after all,” Evett said. “Funny how that works. When you’re this far away, the imperfections don’t matter so much.”

“You’re right,” said Tylix softly. “Look.” He pointed at the lake. The sun was peeking out over the valley. A few weak rays of late afternoon light, nothing more, but—there it was. The lake was shining, and the stream that wound into the ravine was like a golden thread.

“It’s the river of time,” said Tylix. “Just the way I saw it that night. It twists and it turns, but it’s whole. That’s the World.”

“Wow.” Rikti didn’t know what to say. He imagined himself plucking that thread out of the land and reshaping its path. After all, that was what they were here to do today—change the course of Neopia’s fated destruction.

The view only lasted a few seconds. Then the clouds rolled in again, and the wind blew harder than ever. “So. Are you ready?” said Evett in a low voice.

Rikti turned and saw his eyes for the first time in a long while. They’d been like shallow pools once, he remembered. Now there was life in them, and a depth as vivid as the raging waters of the great ocean. In his fading body, only those eyes were as clear as day.

A thought, a prickly irritation, came into Rikti’s head. _He’s not… going to last._

“We’re ready,” said Tylix. Rikti nodded, shutting the thought away. The valley was already obscured so completely from their sight that it might as well not have existed. The watchful gaze of the World was gone. They were alone on a rock wrapped in a blank haze. Awaiting them, all too visible, was their final test.

“Are _you_ ready?” said Rikti.

“Of course,” said Evett. “You have your dreams. This is mine.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. And without another word he climbed the stone stairs. They followed him silently. _The beginning and the end._

* * *

The palace of the Two Rings was a twisted, shiny mass of spikes and shadows. The Temple of Roo’s black walls had been smooth and stolid; here the walls seemed to bristle like a living thing—a parasite sucking the life out of the mountain. The warped towers and battlements sat on, or rather sprouted from, a flat and barren stone surface jutting sharply outward from the slope. It was a courtyard of sorts, decorated with spiraling grooves and ridges half-covered by snow.

Evett wished he could say he wasn’t afraid. He’d always been better at hiding his fear than getting rid of it. Now the fear was wrapping so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. And not only fear—there was a sickening weight in the air. He and the others raised their faces upward, striving against it. Above them the mountain’s peculiar curve was apparent even through the fog. The peak was somewhere above their heads, and the distant dark shape in the sky was undoubtedly its twin listing towards them. They were the palace’s deformed guardians, and its only ones. There was no outer wall, nor any other defense save a pair of crumbling watchtowers posted above the steps. Nothing outwardly changed as Evett and the others passed them by and stepped into the courtyard. Nevertheless, Evett felt the weight on his shoulders double. Even with his body half-fading away, he felt increasingly sick.

Every footstep echoed dully in the empty expanse. The rock beneath his feet quivered. Though the tremors from earlier in the day had died down some time ago, they returned now. The magic in the air glided over his fur, heavy with familiar enmity. The palace rose to embrace him. This was not Kal Panning, where terror was etched into the earth itself; in the Two Rings, a single will was enough to hold sway over all else. Evett could see him now, striding through the courtyard to greet them.

There were no armies, no fanfares, no sound but the wind and the creak of the mountain. But that was him: a giant of an Eyrie with a green gaze that could melt boulders, swathed in a cloak and an aura of oppressive darkness. Jahbal, last of the Circle of Twelve.

He was not the mighty lord he had been in Faleinn’s memories. There was a gaunt greyness to his form, not unlike Evett’s own, and his back was bent like a crone’s. But his overpowering strength proved it beyond a doubt. Even the glib smirk could only be his. And the force of those eyes, so much stronger than the mere projection Evett had seen at the Temple of Roo, was undiminished.

The three heroes and their great foe met at the center of the courtyard, a few yards apart. Even at this distance, Jahbal towered over them. This was him—really him. Evett forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly. His breath misted before him, and he watched it dissipate in the wind. Calm. He had to stay calm.

“Good afternoon,” said Jahbal in that slow, deliberate voice of his. “How was the climb? I must say, I’ve been quite impressed with your efforts against my servants this past week.”

No one answered. They met his gaze, or did their best to.

“Sullen today, I see.” His eyes bored into Evett. The other two might as well have been invisible. “Imagine—a freak of nature in my own palace. A _dissonance_.”

He drew out the word with special revulsion. Evett twitched. The mere mention of it stung like an open wound.

“You’re no better,” shouted Rikti bravely. “Don’t act all high and mighty when you’ve ruined your own country!”

Jahbal’s eyes flicked briefly to Rikti, who to his credit only took a small step backward, before refocusing on Evett. “So you’ve brought these good-for-nothings again.”

“They’re my friends,” Evett answered. He was too cold and anxious to muster the usual rage. One wrong move and it would all be over.

“Friends? Does the sea call a puddle its friend?” Jahbal laughed. “Never mind. No matter how strong your unnatural abilities are, you stand before an infinite ocean. Only luck has brought you this far.”

“I know.”

“Luck, and my own magnanimity. I could have ended you at the Temple of Roo—or set my army on you today, if I had so desired. But I was kind enough to let you pass with only a skirmish.”

“I _know_.”

The fear still gripped him, but it was receding into the background. A tight sense of anticipation remained, wound up in him like a coil waiting to spring. He glanced to the right. Rikti and Tylix were moving into position now. Tylix was far back; Rikti stood closer, hand on his sword-hilt. They were ready to go on the defense. Evett stayed where he was.

“Your quest means nothing,” said Jahbal. “No one chose you. Your city is gone. Not even the World cares for you. Why irritate me here, knowing it will lead to your ruin?”

He wasn’t wrong. Attacking the mighty Jahbal with a party of three was the height of folly. But did it matter, really? When faced with the sorcerer armed with a millennium of stolen energy, every plan was a gamble against certain doom. The three of them had the strength to stand a chance, and he was sure to underestimate them. That was enough.

Jahbal snorted, seeing the look on his face. “I see. Suit yourself, then.”

It was like the tolling of an invisible bell. The wind rose to a frenzy. Everyone and everything began to move at once. Tylix was first; he raised his paw, orb held within, and daggers of ice came sailing through the wind. As quick as he was, Jahbal made no effort to turn. His gnarled talons were already swirling with spectral magic. He needed no staff; indeed, no staff could have contained such energy. One flick of the hand, and his talent exploded in a burst of violet light. Evett sent up a flame at the last second, deflecting the worst of the beams. He felt his fur searing as they passed him by. Rikti and Tylix dove behind a makeshift ice sheet, which could barely take even Jahbal’s glancing hits. Then, not even taking a breath, they ran out again.

Jahbal was fixed on Evett. He strode closer, sneering. Magic poured off of him in an endless barrage. Evett dodged and swung as best he could, letting his gut do the thinking. Flame and darkness collided and dissipated. The stones were scorched with colorful marks. Stray rubble erupted from the ground with every clash, marring the age-old designs.

“Watch out!” came Rikti’s voice. Evett ducked on instinct as a stray bolt of magic passed overhead. He was sweating already. His fire was just enough to keep Jahbal away; the problem was keeping it going. Summoning infinite strength was far easier said than done.

Rikti was coming up behind Jahbal now, swerving past a rain of spectral bullets. Evett caught only a glimpse, but his heart jumped into his throat. He couldn’t protect Rikti from here. What was the kid thinking? But then he saw Tylix’s projectiles covering him from behind, shielding his advance. A few of them crept through Jahbal’s magic barriers, taking advantage of Evett’s distraction, and struck him in the back.

Growling, Jahbal finally turned towards the nuisance. Just as he did so, Rikti circled around him sharply and landed a hard blow on his calves. It did little more than slash open his boots, but Jahbal’s mouth twisted. “You…!”

He spun towards Rikti and let another wave of magic loose. Without thinking Evett bounded in front and took the hit. His fire protected him, but the force threw him backwards onto a hard pile of rubble. Only a bit of leftover snow cushioned his fall. And even at this distance, he could not rest. Jahbal was inexorable, and his temper had risen. Magic was leaking palpably from his claws. It pooled in the stone: a smoky, soupy thing. Evett struggled to his feet and blasted crater after crater into the ground, but he could not stem its advance; the rock was warping like burnt parchment. Foul odors crept upward. The earth shook again, down from the roots of the mountain to its peak.

“Guess there’s no choice,” said Rikti. “I’ll fly if I have to.”

“No, wait!” said Evett. But Rikti was determined to take the heat in Evett’s place. He soared upward and began the onslaught anew. His wing still had an ugly look to it, and even in brief bursts of flight Evett could see the pain flicker. While Jahbal lunged at him, Tylix and Evett did their best to fend off the creeping poison. And all the while, they were being pushed back—closer and closer to the palace itself.

Tylix drove his paw into the ground. Gleaming cracks of ice raced over the surface of the courtyard, meeting the poison. “We can’t keep this up,” he said urgently. “Rikti not least. He’s an easy target up there.”

“I know, I know! But what are we supposed to do?” Evett was trying desperately to get closer to Jahbal. But he lacked Tylix’s range, and even when half-preoccupied, the sorcerer’s energy was more than enough to keep him at a distance.

The courtyard was glossy with ice. Jahbal’s power was fighting it andwinning, but for now the two were kept in check. Tylix and Evett refocused their efforts on Jahbal. A few ice crystals shattered in the air; a few more hit home on his head. But they could not drag his gaze away from Rikti. The Korbat was swooping high and low every few seconds, unable to land for long or draw back to where the others were. Jahbal was bent on destroying this insignificant opponent.

“Evett!” said Tylix, in between ragged breaths. “Set my crystals on fire, will you?”

“What?” said Evett. The dust, bitter and black from their combined forces, clogged his eyes and ears. “Wouldn’t they cancel each other out?”

“Yes—but they’ll reach him before that happens. Your strength and my speed—”

Rikti had nicked a few good hits on Jahbal, even slashing his forehead. But now he had flown in too close. Jahbal knocked him bodily to the ground. “You’re a pest,” he growled. With a groan Rikti rolled weakly to the side, buying a few seconds. Jahbal bent over him, stretching out his claws. For a brief, precious moment, he ceased to fire in Tylix and Evett’s direction.

“ _Do it!_ ” Tylix whispered. The orb around his neck floated upwards. A dozen more ice crystals appeared above his palm. Evett was suddenly reminded of that terrible scene—another courtyard, another crystal, a blazing atrium in a lonely ruin. He had seen Tylix’s true self for the first time that day. Now, witnessing the fierce emotion in his friend’s eyes, he felt as if he was seeing something even truer.

Evett pointed his staff at the crystals. A halo of flame popped into existence. The crystals began to twist and crackle. But they were already slicing through the air, alive with the vigor of the World. Jahbal turned at the last second, cursing, and managed to block a few. But the rest sank into his side with a burning hiss.

Jahbal jerked away, clutching his side. A few drops of blood oozed from the wound. With a roar, his magic burst out from him once more: not in scattered beams, but as a wave of pure hatred. Evett and Tylix staggered backwards, barely holding it back with their combined energy; Rikti narrowly escaped it, though the look on his face was nothing short of agony. Quickly he rejoined the other two. They had backed up nearly to the cliff edge now, and all three of them were battered. The shields would not hold long.

“Are you satisfied yet?” snapped Jahbal. Behind him, the courtyard was rotting away. Evett saw it clearly for the first time since the fight had begun. It had been beaten into shreds. The flat, smooth stone had been broken into hollowed-out depressions and mounds of featureless debris. Poison and chips of ice ate at the blasted rock. But if Jahbal cared for the destruction of his own home, he did not show it. Furiously he pushed forward. The energy grew more and more pressing. Evett instinctively shouldered in front of the others, but even he could not hold out against this. He gasped for air.

What was he to do? Fighting on this polluted terrain was no longer an option, whether or not they broke out of this chokehold. And the open air was a drawback as well; with unlimited space, Jahbal could easily keep Evett at bay. Evett needed to level that disadvantage somehow. He needed a place where Jahbal would move more cautiously. A narrower, murkier place that would hem him in. A place like—

Evett’s eyes darted to the palace and then to Tylix and Rikti. They all understood. Rikti inhaled. “Ready, set—“ As one, they dropped the shields and ran full-tilt to the right. Cursing, Jahbal redirected his poisonous beam. It swept the courtyard like a searchlight. The pressure grazed Evett painfully, and his paws sank into pools of burning violet, but he ignored both. The trio spread out as they ran for the palace—not directly for it, but close enough that Jahbal’s crushing wave, too slow to control with pinpoint accuracy, would have to strike it.

And it did. The three heroes dived out of the way with perfect timing. The twisted towers trembled. The nearest wall split open from the base, leaving a gaping hole. Once the noise had stopped, Evett headed straight for the interior. He made it just as Jahbal’s blasts hammered the wall above him. Wreckage crashed down, barely missing Evett and the others.

They stood shakily. Around them was a large parlor, or what had formerly been a parlor; there was a fireplace in the corner, and the decayed remains of a rug and drapes still sat in their proper places. A faded painting of a tall white turret hung above the mantelpiece.

Jahbal stepped carelessly into the room, kicking aside the fallen pieces of the wall. His wrath was still boiling over. “I suppose this was your scheme?” he said. “This palace means nothing to me. It is a relic. I could tear this place down brick by brick!”

“You could. But we will first.” Tylix had his orb out again, and he gripped it now so tightly that Evett could practically see his veins through the fur.

“Ha! An abomination and his ragged entourage. I can hardly believe this has gone on so long.” Jahbal radiated with pulsing spectral power. In a flash all the walls of the room began to crumble. Cracks spread over the floor, and the trio braced themselves. But Evett saw that Jahbal was indeed holding back now. As great and mighty as he was, even he was loath to have a ceiling crash down on him. This was Evett’s chance.

Rushing forward, he swung his staff at the nearest falling rock. The flame swallowed it and propelled it forward. Jahbal dodged it, but stumbled over the frayed edges of the rug. Evett sent more and more rocks in his direction, as many as he could muster in this tight space. But Jahbal’s attacks were hitting him too, one toxic beam after another. There was no way to dodge here, no way to pull back and wait like he had outdoors. He had to suffer the blows.

Finally the walls collapsed. Behind their remains, Evett saw more rooms. Parlors, bedchambers, dining halls—on and on they marched, decrepit and hollow, a memory of life nestled in this black palace. He saw in them a twisted replica of Kal Panning; two old, old places, moldering away in a world that deserved to forget them.

A rock hit Evett hard in the flank, and he fell with a cry. “You still don’t understand, do you?” said Jahbal as he flicked boulders out of his way. “The real battle is happening below in the valley. All Neopia’s energy is flowing into me. I grow stronger by the minute. And once the rebels are dealt with—“

“ _Dealt_ with?” Rikti said incredulously. Though his arms were shaking and he could hardly stand after the beating he had taken, he faced Jahbal head-on. “It doesn’t matter how many times you and your monsters beat us. Neopia isn’t yours. We’ll get back up every time.”

Jahbal narrowed his eyes. “I am of the Circle of Twelve. The last and greatest of my order. You dare suggest that ruling is not my right?”

He seemed to grow as he spoke. Evett became aware of faint lines in the air, like thin trails of smoke. They floated in from the world outside. Though hardly visible even against the black wall, there was a vast number of them. “He really is absorbing energy,” Evett whispered as he pulled himself upright. “His monsters—they must be—“

“We don’t have time,” muttered Rikti. The mountain shook once, twice. Jahbal would not corrode the floor as heavily here as he had outdoors, not when he had so little room to maneuver, but the slightest touch from him was poison to the stone. Even now it was sinking inexorably. And Jahbal himself was more furious than ever.

“He won’t go all-out in here,” said Evett. “That’s our only hope. If we get him to lower his guard…”

Back and forth they went, here attacking, here defending. They could do more damage than they had before, but it was hard not to take more damage as well. They were all bleeding heavily, Rikti most of all. And they were being pushed back. Down the whole length of the palace they went, slowly but surely, as Jahbal advanced on them. The rooms they fought in were unrecognizable beneath the wanton destruction.

Finally, by pure chance, they found themselves in a small room lined withceramics. Vases, plates, and figurines were stacked neatly in glass cabinets, covered in dust but no less beautiful for it. The remnants of a golden chandelier still hung from the ceiling. The trio glanced around and readied themselves. Jahbal was hot on their heels, already preparing another merciless blast. But just as he lumbered into the room, Rikti leaped skyward and cut through the rusted chain holding the chandelier aloft. Evett set it ablaze. It landed squarely on Jahbal’s head, shattering into smoldering pieces. The sorcerer swung blindly, cursing, but Tylix and Evett had already taken shelter behind the nearest intact wall.

Tylix stood alone now. Mumbling an apology to the artifacts, he slammed his paw on the nearest cabinet. Glowing cracks snaked over the glass, brimming with energy. Jahbal batted aside the chandelier, clutching the wound on his head, and realized what was happening. But it was too late. Tylix released his grasp and jumped back. Instantly the cabinet exploded outward, burying Jahbal in an avalanche of ice and twinkling bits of porcelain. Each one might have been worth more than all the gems in Gali Yoj’s shop.

Even before they saw Jahbal and his wounds, they could feel his anger. This was the hardest blow they had yet dealt him. But even that desperate ploy had been nothing to him. As his hulking shadow rose slowly from the still-burning scraps of the chandelier, the sick feeling of mingled fear and anticipation tightened in Evett’s stomach again.

And then the moment came. Faster than sight itself, Jahbal swept his arm. The very air seemed to darken into a violet stew. Evett and the others forced themselves to stay upright, though sweat trickled down their brows. Jahbal’s shadow, still obscured by the settling dust of his precious antiques, moved closer. Every footstep was a thunderclap racing over the floor. Crushing rays of that hated purple light bombarded the ground. Evett raised his arm with what seemed like all the strength he could muster and formed a barrier of flame to protect them. Each crash of Jahbal’s magic against it felt like a stab on his own hide.

He took the blows uncomplainingly. He could hardly breathe, but he would not give Jahbal the pleasure of seeing him admit to pain. And again he walked forward, step by torturous step. But whatever terrible spell Jahbal had cast, it was sucking the light and life from the atmosphere. Evett soon sank weakly to the ground. The flame quivered and went out.

“ _This_ is power,” said Jahbal, looming over him. The shadow was enough to blot out all light, whatever was left of it in this blighted place. “This is the strength Neopia once had. What it could have again! I will say it again: _your quest means nothing._ ”

Tylix lifted his head. “You’re… wrong,” he said, eking out the words. “I know more than anyone what it means. It’s our—“

“Don’t make me laugh.” Jahbal picked him up by the tail and held him aloft. Tylix struggled, but he was too exhausted to resist. With glee Jahbal placed his other hand on Tylix’s chest. The thin lines of magic that Evett had seen before grew from it, glimmering white like gossamer. Tylix’s breath came in hitched gasps.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” cried Evett, rising shakily against a weight that felt like the mountain itself. “Tylix! _Tylix!_ ”

He stretched out an arm, only to have it crushed under his enemy’s boot. Jahbal towered over him, still holding Tylix. “How sad. Is this all a dissonance can manage? I expected more.”

 _Get up. Get up!_ Evett could still fight. He knew he could. But it was so hard to make himself go on. What had he accomplished in all this time? Faleinn’s words seemed farther away than ever.

“A plaything of the World,” Jahbal said in a booming voice. “So powerful, and so helpless. Let this be a lesson to you, little Lupe. I will crush your resistance. And if you claim to stand for Neopia, then—then I will crush it as well. As many times as I need to, until it accepts that it is mine. I am—“

“I don’t care,” Rikti interjected suddenly. He was getting to his feet, amazingly. His face was so pinched with weariness and pain that Evett could almost hear his teeth grind. “No, not just me. _We_ don’t care, you old codger.”

Silence. Jahbal’s grip tightened, making Tylix whimper. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

“All you do is talk. I’m tired of it. Did you talk like this before Faleinn cursed you into being a ghost? Or were you actually important then?” Rikti grinned recklessly.

Then he turned and pulled Evett to his feet. “Are you okay?” he whispered. Evett stared at him as if he’d grown another head. It took him a moment to understand.

Jahbal looked equally shocked. “…Unbelievable,” he said after a moment. “To think you still aren’t afraid, when I have your precious friend here within my grasp.”

“Oh, I’m afraid all right,” said Rikti. He ran a hand through his charred and rumpled hair. “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. But you’re more scared than I could even imagine.”

“Of what?” Jahbal chuckled. “I have yet to show you my full strength, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“It’s not _us_ you’re scared of. You’re scared that your time has passed. That you’ve clung to life all these years only for everyone to hate you for it.”

Jahbal’s eyes bulged.

“…That, in other words, _your_ quest is the one that means nothing.”

“You… you…” Jahbal’s talons twitched. Tylix slid limply to the floor, forgotten.

“Faleinn said you’d gotten weak,” Rikti went on. He was straining visibly against the magical haze choking the air, but his voice was still clear. “I didn’t believe it at first, but she was right. Our strength is each other—our hopes, our dreams, our country. What do you have, really? Other than what you steal from us, of course.”

The truth dawned on Evett. For a moment he detached himself from his terror and saw Jahbal: not as the fearsome lord of legend, but as a withered ghost haunting a derelict ruin. And everything seemed to change all at once. He even felt a twinge of pity.

Jahbal seethed as his green gaze flitted from one of them to the next. He took note of them for the first time—not as annoyances but as _Neopets_. He saw their worn bodies, their taut faces. He saw rebellion. Watching his face, Evett knew this fight was no longer mere amusement for him. In his fists were spiraling wells of power. The concentrated magic in the close air made Evett’s stomach turn. “I am the true king,” he raged. “Your insolence is pitiful. Neopia’s path, you say? That path is _mine_ to decide!

“I see what this is. Faleinn… so you’ve met her, have you? She’s poisoned your minds. Faleinn!” His face contorted with wrath. His arms trembled by his sides. “I knew she was here. That meddling witch—she was never fit to challenge me! All this is her doing—her foolish resistance, her wicked curse—”

He broke off, muttering feverishly. All the while Evett and Rikti moved closer, laboring against their protesting bodies. “It’s not about you sorcerers,” Evett replied, speaking with the courage he wished he could feel. “Faleinn just gave us the final push. Right, Rikti?”

“Right.” They were face-to-face with Jahbal. The Eyrie’s bloodshot eyes swung upwards to meet them. He saw the little Korbat’s sword pointed at him. And then he saw that the dissonant Lupe’s paw lay over the hilt, covering his friend’s little hand. His fiery talent blossomed from it. At once flame blanketed the blade, so bright and terrible that even Jahbal had to blink. It was no ordinary magic. How long had the Lupe been storing it up? How long had the Korbat been readying this thrust? How could they even stand, when his power filled every inch of the air in this blasted fortress?

Jahbal’s reflexes were swifter than any Neopian alive. He could take a step and knock the sword out of their hands in an instant. Or so he thought, but then he felt an iron grip on his ankles. There—was that weak little Kacheek, pale but conscious, holding on to him with the force of a Corrupted beast. How was this possible?

“The great never deserve the small,” Tylix whispered. “This quest is about us, Jahbal. It’s our dreams.”

“It’s the path we chose,” finished Rikti. He brought the blade down in a shimmering, blinding flash. Jahbal was thrown backward, caught unawares by the pure strength and sureness of the blow. His armor smoked and burned away. For a moment the trio heard nothing but his ghastly shrieks.

Rikti’s sword was disappearing too, eaten up by the flames. It had done its job. Evett couldn’t have stored up all that power on his own, not without something to receive it. So as Rikti had helped Evett stand, he had guided Evett’s paw to his sword-hilt. There it had stayed all the while as Rikti had spoken—and once Jahbal’s mind had drifted away from the battle, they had seized their chance. Only in a narrow space like this would it have been possible, and even then it had been risky. Tylix’s life hung in the balance, after all. But it had been worth every second to see the look on Jahbal’s face.

Jahbal clutched his chest. Wordless growls escaped his throat. Then, lurching forward, he began to attack. No more rants, no more gloating—he was bent on destroying them now. Glass and pottery shards crunched beneath his feet.

Tylix crawled out of the way just in time to avoid a passing bolt of magic. He looked barely well enough to move, but the expression on his face was determined. “I’ll stay with him,” Rikti said to Evett. “Without my sword I’m not much help anyway. The rest is up to you.”

Evett nodded. “Got it. And… thanks, Rikti.”

“Anytime,” said Rikti with a wink. If he mourned the loss of his beloved sword, he didn’t show it. “What are friends for?”

He dove to the side. Evett was by himself now. His fire was all that stood between Neopia and Jahbal. And his enemy was undoubtedly still more than a match for him. _Okay. Calm down._ He took a deep breath. In and out. Snow was falling again outside. A few flakes drifted in through the holes in the walls. Though the wind had died down earlier, it started up once more.

The heaviness in the air intensified. Everything had gone dark, from the wreckage of the castle rooms to the snowdrifts building up around them. To Evett’s left Rikti and Tylix were crouching on hands and knees, doing everything in their power not to buckle under Jahbal’s strength. But Evett himself felt the pressure less with every passing minute. He had to shield his friends; he refused to let them suffer any longer. What was a little pain next to that?

Jahbal circled the room, firing at him from every direction. Evett kept up, reaching within himself for the power the way he always did. He hardly heard the sorcerer’s vicious yells, nor even saw the world around him. Jahbal had never been his real opponent here, anyway. He realized that now. Just as Jahbal saw only his subjects’ love and hatred, Evett saw only his own doubts mirrored in his enemy’s black silhouette.

He had spent these weeks holding himself back, just as Jahbal had all the long years of his exile. But it was himself he had been frightened of, not others. He had feared that his true nature would break him. That the floodgates would open—that he would cross some uncrossable line. That the mirror would crack. That all the things he had treasured, in his old forgotten life and the new one he had cobbled together, would disappear.

The line had been crossed long ago, Evett reflected ruefully. His glowing fur was the proof of that. There was no longer any need to reject the choice that had been thrust upon him. And so he descended into the depths of his soul again. There was an eternal fire here, locked in the pits of the World’s coffers. Never had he wanted it. Never had he accepted its existence. But now he took it up in his paws tenderly. This was the willpower Faleinn had demanded of him. There was no going back.

Roiling fire met waves of spectral energy. Brilliant sparks danced over the room. Rocks fell from the sky like rain. Tylix and Rikti ran for cover. Evett shut his eyes as heat and wind washed over him. Jahbal gave a hissing cry. “Why… do you oppose me?” he snarled. “The others, I can comprehend. But your queen abandoned you. Your city is gone. Even your so-called friends—you could topple them with a breath. What does a ruined creature like you live for?”

“For myself. For them. If you can’t understand that, then you’ll never rule even a single Neopian!”

His body began to shine more fiercely than ever. A dazzling inferno rolled from it. Evett was reminded dimly of his battle against Xantan an eternity ago. He had drawn on pure instinct then—the primal hunger for life that had kept him alive far beyond his due. Now he knew just how much that life was worth. Even the pain shooting through his limbs was precious. Could the hermit in the cave have ever imagined this? Would the ordinary Lupe of Neopia Central have ever reached for it?

The walls of the palace that yet stood were falling away now. The rumbling of the broken towers and of the groaning mountain seemed distant to Evett’s ears. He and Jahbal struggled at the epicenter of the destruction, with rubble melting and burning all around them in the thickening snow. Their magic clashed over and over: Evett’s tongues of fire and Jahbal’s whirling eddies of darkness. Each encounter reverberated like a tiny explosion. Evett shuddered from the recoil. His arms were wooden, his legs shaking. Through the pelting snow and the mist of his own exhaustion, he could barely make out Jahbal’s face. Even with everything on the line, even with all the energy he could muster and more, Jahbal was still greater. No willpower could overcome the natural technique of an immortal sorcerer. That was a plain fact.

He was searching his mind for some new plan when he finally remembered the last piece of the puzzle. As if on cue, Tylix and Rikti limped up beside him, sheltered by a soaring column of flame.

“You’re here,” said Evett, relieved. “So, should we go for it? I was hoping we could finish this ourselves, but it looks like we’ll need a little help.”

Tylix smiled wanly. “I think so. You’ve had your time in the sun. Let’s do this part together.”

“A little something to remember your hometown by,” added Rikti. He placed his hand on Evett’s paw. Tylix followed.

Jahbal beat back the flames. His looming figure was terrifying to behold. But none of them were looking. From their joined hands came a rushing breeze and a golden glimmer, the last remnant of Faleinn ever to exist in Neopia—

The wind howled. Evett and the others were thrown backward by its sheer might. Jahbal staggered back, shielding his face. “What—what—“ he sputtered. A great cloud was forming. Many clouds, many shapes, a pillar of mist that blotted out the sun: the ghosts of Kal Panning, summoned to Faleinn’s call.

They were innumerable. Though they had no faces and only the vaguest trace of bodies, their moans and cries rose to the heavens. They turned to Evett. At first he could find nothing to say. His heart ached for them, for himself. Were his parents in here? Sisters, brothers? Children he had played with, friends he had known? The past was wiped away.

“I was like you once,” he said softly. It still hurt to say it, but not as much as it once had. “We’re one and the same. Maybe I’m somewhere in that crowd with you even now. Do you… do you still remember our home?”

There was no sound for a moment. Then from the ghosts there came a mournful song, a wail that struck at the heart. It went on, louder than the snowstorm, more painful than any trick a mage could devise. If Faleinn could have heard it, maybe even she would have trembled. But she was gone, and only these bitter pieces of the past were left. Jahbal stared at the ghosts with disgust. Rikti and Tylix looked away.

“I don’t either. It’s okay.” Evett bit his lip. “But for the sake of this era… for the Neopians who still have something to love—can you help us one last time?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Lifting his staff, he rushed at Jahbal. Rikti and Tylix followed him, shaking their bare fists with the bravery of an army. And then, like a coursing stream, a thousand of his countrymen flanked him. They had no magic, of course, nor any strength to speak of; but the force of the wind was bound up in their forms, and their advance was a storm bearing down on Jahbal.

“You are nothing!” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the gale. “Helpless shades of the past! What power do you think you have?”

Energy still floated to him from below, but fewer of those glistening grey strands could be seen now. The wind was changing down there, and everywhere in this land. The ghosts’ voices rose in protest, mingled with the shouts of Evett and his friends. It would all end here, one way or another. The palace had been smashed to smithereens. The heroes were battered; the villain was flagging. As the lights and sparks began anew, Evett reached once more for the World. _You owe me this much,_ he thought. _It might not be the future you decided on. But just let Neopia win this one time. ...And in return, you’ll be free of this dissonance forever._

The last, grueling assault began. Jahbal lurched from one opponent to the next, not even bothering to deflect Rikti’s punches or Tylix’s feeble slivers of ice. The ghosts spiraling in the air blinded him in a vortex of snow and wind, so much so that Evett for his part could hardly see him either. All else in them was empty and gone, but their enmity for the great evil of the Old Times, and their simple kinship with one who had been like them, still burned bright.

That kinship was close now, dangerously close. Evett felt the chasm of nothingness creeping over him in the corners of his mind. His nerves were dulled, and finally a blast came straight for his head. He ducked too late, and it seared his fur… and then it passed through him. Evett looked down at himself, dazed from exertion. He was growing transparent. His body was vanishing, minute by minute. Soon there would be nothing left.

He refused to let himself despair. There would be another future. There would be another destiny for these cursed Neopians. He still had warmth to fill the void of this mortal vessel, and he had already decided to spend it to the fullest. Here and now, while the last hours wore away.

Tylix and RIkti gave another battle cry. Evett joined them. Fire poured from his fading body, gushing out like his own life-blood. It covered the ground and hurtled towards Jahbal. The ghosts came with it, singing their deafening song. Though Jahbal tried to avoid them, the storm surrounded him and leapt inward, encasing him in a ball of flame. The sight was grotesque. Evett fell, dizzy, and looked on.

The sorcerer’s cry was so great that it alone made all the heroes falter. For a moment he was trapped there, unmoving at the edge of the cliff, as the fire and the ghosts swarmed over him. He sank to his knees. For a while they could hear nothing but an endless roar. Then came silence, which was yet more unsettling. No one believed, even for a moment, that this was the end of him.

Finally, in a slow movement, they saw his silhouette rise. He raised his arms above his head. They were dripping with poisonous energy. Rivulets of it ran down and quenched the flames. The ghosts pulled away, and his face came into view again. It was a rictus of insane loathing, so far removed from the self-possessed leer of hours past that Evett could hardly believe his eyes. Jahbal had reached the breaking point.

“I see. So Neopia is determined to deny me,” he said. “Then you leave me no choice. I will bury it all.”

He swung his arm with brutal force. The piles of rubble nearest him went flying. The ghosts were scattered by the dust. Evett and the others stumbled to a safe distance. As they did so, Jahbal bent down and pointed at the ruined stone beneath his feet. Poison melted into the cracks, forming an intricate circular shape.

“A magic circle,” Tylix gasped. He tried and failed to raise himself. “No… he’s going to do something terrible. I know it. He’s going to destroy Neopia, just like my visions said…!”

The ghosts rushed at Jahbal, but in his half-kneeling position their gusts of air could do little to agitate him. “This land is mine!” screamed Jahbal. “Do you really think I _fear_ it? Do you think I care at all for the emotions of your worthless kind?” The circle shone with a sickly light. It was nearly complete. Evett picked himself up and ran to the cliff blindly, thoughtlessly. A river of flame surged with him. He wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t make it.

“I will be king of Neopia. King of the ashes, if I must be. That will satisfy me! After all this time, all these years—” With a brush of his claw he drew in the final sigil. Now all that was left was to activate it.

 _I won’t make it. I won’t make it._ Wind shot like arrows over the crumbling rock. Evett ran for his life, for a million lives. He pictured the floods and earthquakes that Tylix had seen over and over. Was that really how it would end? After all this? He gave a futile cry. He was close, so close. But Jahbal’s hand was already hovering above the circle. His eyes met Evett’s, one last time. A mad, triumphant smile flickered over his face.

And then—he hesitated.

* * *

_Have you ever heard it? The music of the World?_

There was a wind blowing here too, but a soft one. It barely lifted the hem of Jahbal’s cloak as he sat swinging his legs over the wall. All around him were pennants and streamers. Gleaming towers, a dozen at least, stretched to the heavens. The streets and balconies were crammed with cheering crowds. This was one of the many cities Jahbal had seen, once upon a time. A young city in a young land. There were still many years to go before the might of the Circle of Twelve would ring over the hills and valleys of Neopia.

Jahbal looked over his shoulder. The Twelve were scattered over the ramparts, each in the flower of their youth, caught up in the brilliance of a dawning era. There was Haletha, doing a balancing act on a flagpole. Rosval was scolding her. Xantan was beaming at the onlookers, happier than Jahbal had ever seen him. Pryennet was unfurling a banner with the city’s new name written on it. And Faleinn… Faleinn was here too. She stood next to Jahbal, facing away from the city and all its noise. The lush grass on the hills was reflected in her clear gaze.

“Well?” she said. “ _Have_ you heard it?”

Jahbal scoffed. He’d heard the theories, and he despised them. “I stand here under my own power. Not fate’s, or the World’s, or whatever you want to call it.”

“I never said otherwise,” she said calmly. “But answer the question.”

What was she doing, talking about all this nonsense when they had work to do? “No. No, I haven’t heard it, because it doesn’t exist! If it were possible to write a song that could control the future, I would have done it myself.”

“I see.” There was a long pause. Faleinn brushed her hands over the smooth white stone. “The music of the World isn’t fate. At least, I don’t believe it is. But it is _a_ fate. And we change it day by day. We Neopians weave that tapestry together. We make the future into the present. You are here because you chose to be, yes—and because these townsfolk chose you.

Your mistake, Jahbal, was thinking that you alone held the keys to our destiny.”

Jahbal’s blood froze in his veins. Faleinn turned to him. No longer was she the young, pensive Aisha of those long-ago days—now he saw a queen, a hated nemesis, the last vestige of eleven sundered friendships.

“Do you even remember this place?” she said coldly. “You did, once. You treasured every one of these memories. Even when I spoke to you that day in Kal Panning, you still remembered. But no longer. We have grown old, and so forgotten ourselves.” Her voice rang in his ears above the din of the celebrations. “Why did you choose this city all those years ago, Jahbal? Why did you fight for it?”

Jahbal reeled. That was not Faleinn. Faleinn was gone, burned away by her own folly. What he saw was no more than a figment of his worn and battered mind. It was true. It _was_ , and yet—

Faleinn came closer to him. She was a Kacheek now, a skinny little thing with an earnest expression. _Why did you fight for it?_ A Korbat, young and alive with determination. _Why did you fight for Neopia?_ A Lupe with a glowing white pelt, swirling with eternal fire. _What do you have, really?_ Faces came into his head. Thousands, millions. All the Neopians he had ever seen. He wanted their love. He demanded it. But the rejection he saw was one of utter finality.

“They gave everything,” said the Lupe. “So did I. Because once you hold back, you’ve already lost.”

The nameless city disappeared. The Two Rings replaced it, silent and stern. Jahbal chuckled. His hand was still hovering above the ground. It could not touch the circle, could not bridge the final gap. Maybe in another future it might have, had Neopia’s stubbornness pushed him over the brink. But now he saw clearly how things were. His hand had no dream to animate it, no wish strong enough to carry it through to the terrible end. It was simply a tool that had failed him, like everything else.

So this was fate, then. In the end, he had just been a little too slow.

_If only—I had written the song—_

* * *

The flames hit Jahbal. The old sorcerer tottered, driven backward by desperate force. He made no sound of protest. There he stood on the cliff edge, perfectly still, surrounded by a halo of fire and stolen magic. In the rushing snow, he seemed like no more than a shadow.

Then the spirits of Kal Panning sprang forward. In a torrent they flooded him, bringing with them the vengeance they had been summoned to fulfill. The cacophony of their voices was sorrow and deliverance. So it seemed to the trio’s fevered minds as they stumbled forward, running for the cliff despite their powerlessness. As they watched from far off, they saw it happen. The ghosts reached their aim, and Jahbal toppled silently over the edge.

Evett gave a shout. But even he was too far away to disturb the sorcerer’s last bow. It seemed for a single second in time as if Jahbal was floating, suspended by a thread above the sea of clouds. His eyes, so shrewd and piercing even now, were fixed on the three friends. He did not speak, and there was no answer they could give.

The moment passed. Away he fell into the mist, never to return.

* * *

The wind blew mournfully. Tylix hardly dared to breathe. He stared at the cliff as long as he could, straining for even a glimpse, until at last his dizziness overcame him. He slumped onto the ground, barely noticing the rock jutting into his back until Rikti shoved it out of the way.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Rikti said.

What an ordinary thing to ask. Tylix smiled, and then rubbed his forehead wearily. “I’ve been fighting for hours on end, I’ve had half my life energy siphoned out of me, and you’re really asking if I’m okay?”

It was more than mere exhaustion. He was overwhelmed by the sudden calm—the peacefulness of the mountain. His visions were gone. The evil that had haunted them all his life was gone. It was the first real peace he had ever known.

 _It’s over._ The reality of it shocked him to the bone. He couldn’t so much as wrap his head around it.

Evett sat down and shook him gently. “Can you sit up and drink something, at least? Your voice sounds pretty dry. And you’ve got a long walk ahead of you.”

“So do you,” said Tylix.

Evett didn’t answer.

It took a few seconds for Tylix to realize fully what was happening. His breath was stolen away. _No… you’re kidding, aren’t you…_ The relief of victory vanished in the blink of an eye.

“So it’s really happening?” Rikti didn’t look surprised. “You’re… you’re really doing this, huh? And right when we were ready to feel good about ourselves.”

Tylix swallowed. His throat _was_ dry. In the silence he could barely remember all the silly yelling that he’d been doing. He looked up at the sky, trying to gather his wits, and it took him a moment to realize that he was looking right through Evett. Evett’s entire being was translucent now, a sad white fog indistinguishable from the crowd of Kal Panning ghosts and the hazy clouds drifting about the mountain. Only his eyes were as keen as ever, and they shone with tears.

“I’m glad we were able to beat Jahbal,” he began. “I’ve been so scared, but now I can rest assured. You’ll be fine without me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tylix shakily, though it was obvious by now.

“The World sent me here, remember? It’s trying to return me to my natural state: the ghost I used to be.” He held up his shining paws. “But I won’t go back. I won’t fade into oblivion, accepting whatever comes my way. And I won’t let the rest of Kal Panning endure that torture, either. I’m going to use the last of my magic here. I’ll speed up Faleinn’s spell—make us disappear today, when I still have a mind of my own, instead of an eon from now.”

Rikti shook his head helplessly. “You’re—you’re a dissonance, right? You could do anything with that kind of power. You could escape Faleinn’s curse—”

“No one can reverse a spell,” he said. “Even the World can’t just spirit things away. There are some laws that can’t be broken, and tampering with them is how this whole mess started. You know that.”

The other ghosts came and floated around them with mute respect. They were tired of this life already, Tylix could see. Tired after only a thousand years, and who knew how many more were still to go? He couldn’t imagine Evett returning to that blank, wandering existence. But for once he didn’t want to even consider the logic.

“It doesnt matter,” he said. He reached out and grasped Evett’s paws with the pathetic strength he had left. Only the faintest trace of fur was there for him to touch. “You can’t go. You _can’t_. Not after all you’ve done for us. You—“ _You saved me._

The atrium of Tower Gaia. The illusions in the Temple of Roo. The plazas and alleyways of Sunnytown. Walking this long road had changed him. He had only known the beauty of the past, but Evett and Rikti had shown him the worth of the present. This couldn’t be the end. The victor of the war, the hero of the age, couldn’t just disappear—

“I’ve already made up my mind,” Evett said quietly. “Now’s the time, before it’s too late. I want the chance to say goodbye.”

There it was. The sounding of the death knell. “Stop it... just stop talking,” mumbled Tylix. He covered his face. He’d never felt like this before, not after a hundred thousand dreams of disaster. Why, why was it harder to part with one friend than with all of Neopia?

Rikti stood suddenly. His face was red, from anger or grief or both. ”You’re always like this!” he yelled. “Just doing whatever you please, keeping everything to yourself! It’s not fair. You’ve interrupted our big victory to—to leave us forever, and I can’t even be mad about it! I hate this, I hate it—“ He broke off into a sob. “It’s not fair.”

Evett drew them into a tight embrace. Tylix thought he felt solid and whole in that one moment, as if he was tethering himself to the ground with sheer willpower. “You can be mad,” he said. “I’d be mad too, if it was one of you.”

“Then don’t do it,” said Tylix through his tears. “I’ll think of something. Anything else, so you can stay. So you can see how amazing the land you fought for really is.”

“We beat Jahbal together,” Rikti said. “We found your dream. You can’t let the World win, not now!”

Evett shook his head. His touch was so warm, Tylix thought. Somewhere inside, the fire was burning bright. “Think about it this way,” he said. “I never would’ve known this life if not for the World’s meddling. I wouldn’t have met you, or thought of anything beyond that little apartment in Neopia Central. I’m happy I got the chance.” His arms tightened around them. “All this time I was looking for home. But home was never a place. It was being with you... sharing my life with you.”

“No,” Rikti pleaded. “No, that’s not true, please...”

“It is,” said Evett. He was crying now too. The tears streamed down his cheeks, disappearing before they hit the ground. “You two gave me everything that I’d forgotten, all those years in the cave. I’ll always be grateful. Always.”

He stepped back. Letting him go was the hardest thing Tylix had ever done. The ghosts pressed in around them, as if offering some small comfort of their own.

“This is Kal Panning’s final rest,” said Evett. “The scars of the Old Times will pass away for good. This is how it ought to be.”

“No... no,” cried Rikti again. Tylix held onto him for support. Already he had been too weak to stand; it was just sheer desperation that kept him up now.

Evett hefted the gnarled staff one last time. Fire shone proudly on its tip. Slowly the magic grew to surround him and the ghosts. Higher and fiercer it blazed. But there was no crushing heat, only the soft and gentle warmth Tylix had felt in Evett’s embrace.

The ghosts sang again as they swirled around Evett. It was a happy melody now, like something out of Rikti’s favorite little tunes. And above the song rose a pure note of hope that seemed to cleanse all the pain and darkness of the Two Rings. It was hope for the land they were leaving behind. Hope for their long-suffering city. Even, if they dared, hope for themselves.

“You might forget all about me,” said Evett thoughtfully as they sang. “Maybe this’ll be a new timeline, or maybe the World will fix up the river so none of this ever happened. I don’t know. But it _did_ happen, and that’s enough for me.” He gazed skyward. “The rest is up to you. This is your future, now.”

The snow was piling up, covering the rubble of Jahbal’s palace. Tylix‘s mind returned once more to the vision he had had a year ago. A Lupe and a Korbat, lying half-buried in a frozen world. His heart ached. Somehow it was worse not knowing the road ahead.

“We won’t forget you,” he yelled. ”As long as we live and draw breath, you’ll be with us wherever we go!”

Rikti rubbed his eyes fiercely. “And we’ll make this world one you can be proud of. Even the Neopians in Neopia Central will be jealous. That’s a promise, okay?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Evett gave them a brilliant, bittersweet smile. “If anyone can bend destiny to their will, it’s us. I’m glad… I was able to make this choice, here at the very end.”

He threw the staff down. The fire swallowed it in an instant. Magic worked its way through the rising currents of wind. Faleinn’s ancient curse was joined by Evett’s last dream in a radiant design. There was so much more Tylix wanted to say, but he couldn’t move or turn away from the sight. It was indeed the final masterpiece of the Old Times—and the gateway to the new.

“Goodbye,” said Evett. “And good luck.”

The fire burned out. The wind and snow swept it away into dust. Rikti and Tylix shielded their faces. When they looked again, Evett and the ghosts of Kal Panning were gone. Not even the staff remained. There was nothing on the mountain—not an ancient villain, not a trio of legendary heroes. Only two small, weak Neopets stood among the rocks, barely a speck in the vast landscape.

* * *

They went down the stone steps in numb silence and sat at the bottom, letting their legs dangle over the ledge where they and Evett had admired the valley that afternoon. Though the shadow that had then hung over them was gone, all Tylix could feel was sorrow.

“But I guess all the great stories have sorrow,” murmured Tylix. “All the heroes had to lose their way before they found it again. We got a better ending than we could have hoped for.”

Rikti sighed. His eyes were still red-rimmed, and he looked utterly drained. With an only an empty scabbard in his hands, he seemed to shrink. “You’re right. I knew he wasn’t going to stay with us after everything. I just wish he could. I—I miss his stupid face already.”

Tylix put his arm around Rikti comfortingly. They sat there for a while, resting their heads on each other’s shoulders, staring out at the world. The snowfall was beginning to ebb, and Tylix could see the outlines of the Valley of Song coming back into view. The ruin of Kal Panning sat still upon the lake. The First Forest was a lavender veil rippling over the horizon. Everywhere Tylix looked, he saw serenity. The monsters were gone with hardly a trace. Never again would they burden Neopia with reminders of its fatal past. Their tormented souls, ruined by the long machinations of Rollay and Jahbal, had quieted at last. Tylix thought of Korabric’s last wish. There too was another relic of the Old Times, slipping soundlessly away.

So this was what peace looked like—the first peace in a thousand years. He tried to understand it. He imagined Jahbal’s baleful gaze again, the twisted loneliness he had harbored all these years. He had lived for love, chased every avenue of power for it. Could such a terrible lord be defeated by naive hope? Had it really happened?

“It still doesn’t feel real yet,” he confessed.

“No, it doesn’t,” said Rikti. He ruminated on this. “But it _is_ real. I mean, we really did it. We defeated Jahbal!” He jumped up to his feet and shouted at the top of his lungs, as if daring all Neopia to hear him and rise in response. “ _Jahbal is gone!_ And good riddance!”

Naive hope had won. It was the plain truth, as absurd as it sounded. This was victory: not the little victories Tylix had seen in his travels, but a great triumph over the evil of this land. And _they_ —Tylix, Rikti, and Evett—had done this. Even if no one would ever know, even if the World scrubbed this day from history, it was a heady feeling.

“You did it,” he told Rikti. “You actually went and saved the world. I’d love to see the look on your brother’s face.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe it, and _I_ was the one who could never shut up about it.” Rikti laughed. “What about you? Did you get to see everything there is to see?”

“Not nearly,” Tylix admitted. “It was always a long shot. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Trying to do the impossible.”

“It’s not impossible anymore,” said Rikti. He squinted, letting the tears blow off in the wind. “Just like saving the world. The three of us can do anything. Now and forever.”

He cast his hand over the valley. It was an infinite landscape, a canvas ready to be painted. His voice was so strong, even through the grief, that Tylix felt himself revive. Out there was possibility. He had his whole life before him, and he swore to himself that it would be a life splendid enough to make up for all those who had lost theirs. There would be challenges, there would be evils—when would there not?—but he and Rikti would triumph. This was a song of hope; nothing in the World could keep that hope away.

The snow was just a light drizzle on the stones. There were still hours to go before sunset, and Neopia was waiting. Standing up, Rikti and Tylix looked at one another with renewed determination.

“Let’s go.”


	13. Epilogue

“Okay, so move your left foot and parry. Other way. No, _other_ way. You want the tip of my blade to hit the base of yours. Right, just like that—ow! You’ve gotten faster.”

“You’re going easy on me, Rikti!”

“Not a chance.”

It was mid-morning. The brothers were dueling in an open field under the summer sun, a little ways south of Swampedge City. Only wooden swords for now, though Mokti swore up and down he’d be ready for the real deal by next week. Rikti, for his part, was taking things slow for once. Teaching was more fun than it looked. He had only started his apprenticeship a year ago, but he was already looking forward to having real students of his own.

Parry, feint, thrust. The lesson went on for a bit before Rikti finally called a halt. They sat down in the shade of a nearby tree, breathing hard. “Sure you don’t need to head back yet?” Rikti asked.

Mokti looked up at the sky, then back at the mass of thatched roofs in the distance. “We can rest for a bit first. I haven’t got much left to sell this week anyway.”

“No surprise there!” said Rikti. Mokti had followed the population boom here a while back, with his usual eye for profits. It seemed his efforts were paying off handsomely. “Well, that’s good news. It’ll be a while before I make any money myself.”

Mokti patted him on the head, which he magnanimously decided not to complain about. “I think you’re doing just fine,” said Mokti. “I’ve got two left feet, and look how much you’ve taught me. You’ll make a great swordmaster one day. The best that Neopia City’s ever seen, if I had to guess.”

Rikti blushed, but could find nothing to say. He still wasn’t much for sibling heart-to-hearts. “Thanks.”

A few months had passed since their last meeting; Rikti had been so busy between lessons and training that it had been hard to find the time for travel. He was grown now (“nearly,” Mokti always insisted, but what did he know?), and grown-ups had no end to their duties. The days were flying by, rich with promise.

He and Mokti were far from the only ones doing well for themselves. All of Neopia was blossoming, from the northernmost snowfields to the sandy coasts. Only two years ago this very field had been nothing more than another nameless patch of grass on the Wide Plains. Now it was soft and green, fed by watering techniques the scholars had come up with. Every time Rikti visited he saw new farms spreading south. There was a song on every tongue, and enough fresh earth to plow the dark years under for good.

None of the farmers had reported seeing a certain ruined temple or an underground maze of illusions. Maybe that too had been washed away. Rikti hadn’t had the time to go see for himself. He could only hope that Erick had found peace, wherever he was; that he and Aelon saw those grassy fields and knew that their time, with all its joys and sorrows, had gone quietly to its final rest.

Mokti nudged Rikti good-naturedly. “Thinking about something? Now _that’s_ not like you.”

“Hey!” said Rikti, nudging him back. “We’ve sat around long enough. Let’s go back and eat.”

They dusted themselves off and strolled back down the road to the city. Mokti practiced his form as they went, kicking up clods of dirt. Rikti, meanwhile, pulled some papers from his bag.

“I got some stuff in the post from Sunnytown last month,” he said. “Thought you’d be interested.”

“Post? Oh, that. All these new-fangled things have me out of sorts,” Mokti grumbled. “So, what is it?”

Rikti examined one of the scrolls. “This one’s from Eleus Batrin. Seems his stay at the Guild of Scholars is going well, though his allergies are giving him trouble.”

“No doubt,” Mokti chuckled as he scanned the letter. “I always could tell the scholar life suited him better than smithing. It’s never too late to pick up new skills, I say!” He punctuated his words with an especially enthusiastic swing. Rikti ducked just in time.

“Speaking of scholars, how’s your friend Tylix?” Mokti went on.

“Actually, the other scroll’s from him,” said Rikti. He held it up.

Mokti took one look at the cramped script and made a face. “You’d better read that one aloud.”

“And everyone calls me the illiterate one,” lamented Rikti with a mock sigh. “Fine, whatever you say.”

Really, he was just used to Tylix’s letters—there weren’t many (postage was expensive), but he read and reread every one. No matter where life took the two of them, no matter how different their paths were, something special always kept them together.

Rikti touched a few trinkets in his pocket. He had taken them from a certain enchanted bag two years ago, somewhere out on these very plains: a pair of shiny dice, a fragment of a stained-glass window, a little figurine of a Mynci in some kind of skirt made from grass. They were small and worn, and would have mystified anyone else who saw them. In fact, they mystified Rikti too. But to him they were no less than an iron anchor.

He was still sad, of course; there wasn’t a cure for that. The sadness itself was a precious memory. But Rikti knew his spirit wasn’t the type to falter on account of the past. It wasn’t what Evett would have expected of him, either. So he touched those trinkets and held fast to them. He wrapped his sadness in the gifts of each passing day, and in the love of his friends and family. That was enough to keep him grounded.

Clearing his throat, he began to read.

” _To my dearest friend, I hope this finds you well...”_

* * *

Tylix put down his quill and yawned. He’d finished his letter to Rikti right on time. The candle was beginning to gutter. It was well past sunset, and his window showed nothing of Sunnytown but a few scattered dots of lantern light. He’d passed many a night like this before, reading and writing until he fell asleep at his desk. Those lonely nights were long gone now.

A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” he said. Denethrir bustled into the little room, followed by Margoreth. “Good evening, Tylix!” the Bruce bellowed.

Tylix stood hurriedly. “Uh, good evening. What brings you here, Master Denethrir?”

“I’m here to congratulate you, naturally!” he said. “Your investiture ceremony is tomorrow, but as far as I’m concerned your tenure’s already begun! How does it feel to be a full scholar at last?” Without waiting for an answer he shook Tylix’s paw vigorously.

“You’re going to be focusing on excavating the Institute, right?” Margoreth asked once Tylix had recovered. “Let me know when you submit your proposal. I could use some more sources on plants for my next book!”

“I‘ll make sure to keep you informed,” said Tylix with a smile. “There’ll be a lot of new discoveries coming out of the jungle soon, now that the monsters are gone.” He thought of Tower Gaia, with its long hallways and dim laboratories. There lay the seed of Neopia’s misfortune; and yet, for him, it was the seed of every blessing he’d ever had. It just seemed right to make it his life’s work.

Not that it would be the only one, of course. The Guild was growing by leaps and bounds. Bridges, artifacts, even irrigation—this age promised to be one of great knowledge. Tylix had his sights set on nothing less than all of Neopia, and even beyond. What secrets did this world have for him? What could he give future generations to make them soar to yet greater heights? In place of the old visions, he dreamed of the lands over the horizon. No darkness haunted their borders in Tylix’s mind. No fate could ever keep them bound.

“So?” Margoreth asked, beaming. “How _does_ it feel to be a scholar?”

“It feels... different,” Tylix said, after a moment’s reflection. Even after all his studies, there were some things he could never quite put into words. “I never imagined I would make it this far.”

“Things were certainly difficult for a while,” said Denethrir soberly. “The battle of Sunnytown was hard on the Guild. I’m sure you were terrified.” _You don’t know the half of it_ , Tylix thought wryly. He and Rikti had decided not to tell anyone the truth of what had happened on that long and strange journey. Neopia wouldjust have to make up its own stories. So far, he decided, it was doing a splendid job.

“A tough battle, to be sure, but you made it in the end! As we all knew you would,” said Margoreth. “Congratulations, Tylix. You’ve worked hard for this.”

“Congratulations!” came a chorus of loud voices from the hallway. Five eager apprentices barreled into Tylix’s room with a plate of biscuits.

“We were taking this upstairs, but then we saw you were still awake,” Kuent explained. “Fancy a nighttime snack, anyone?”

Denethrir helped himself to a few, followed by Margoreth. Tylix demurred, up until Rys threatened to stuff his mouth by force. “What’s with the modesty? You’re getting your investiture before any of us,” she said. “This party’s your reward!”

“Party?” Tylix echoed weakly. But he couldn’t be too upset. This was what he loved best. This was the safe harbor he had always longed for. A warm little room overflowing with light and laughter—one of thousands on this fine evening, filling the towns and villages all over this land. Boundless, limitless.

One of the apprentices brought in a fresh candle and some drinks. The talk and eating went on for a long while. Tylix mingled with his friends, talking about plans for tomorrow and next month and ten years from now. His desk and its responsibilities were mercifully laid aside.

There sat his letter to Rikti, ready to post, with books piled all around as usual. But nestled in the corner just out of sight, next to a rolled-up journal of old dreams, was one book that looked a little odd. It had neat rectangular pages, a pygmy-pink cover, and a title that even the most learned scholar might have struggled with: _The Ice Cream Machine Game Guide._

It hadn’t disappeared in the past two years. Neither had the trinkets in Rikti’s pocket. True, the memories were wearing with time, as all memories tended to do; Tylix could only vaguely recall Evett’s face these days, only dimly hear the timbre of his voice. But the truth of their experiences was still there. Evett was still with them, just as they’d promised him.

Maybe the World, overgrown bureaucrat that it was, had forgotten this little snag in its record. Maybe it had moved on to other pursuits, satisfied that Rikti and Tylix would leave the matter behind them. Maybe it had even witnessed their deeds—deeds that no song would ever recount, save its own—and spared them a few mementos, for old times’ sake.

Whatever the reason, Tylix was grateful. Once Denethrir and the rest had finally left, he pulled out the book and rubbed its corner fondly. In the silence he began to feel contemplative again. Surely this society would reach its natural end one day, and another would rise to take its place. He wondered what sort of world it would be. The river was long, and there were so many stories left to be told. Generations upon generations of them. In the end, though, those things weren’t for him to decide anymore. He was content to take little steps.

Someday soon he would be on his way to the Institute. He’d head north to Neopia City and meet Rikti again. Maybe they’d have some other brilliant adventure together. He read over the letter once before rolling it up and sealing it. A smile crossed his face. Tomorrow would come. Even without prophecies or visions... some things were certain.

* * *

Far away, across a bottomless abyss of years, an old Kau landlady squints at the sun. It is the same sun that once set over Sunnytown and shone over Swampedge City, though those names have long since been forgotten. Tomorrow has come countless times. Now the sun rises anew, and orange light limps through the ramshackle windows.

“It’s way too early for this,” the landlady grumbles as she makes her way down the corridor. A few tenants are moving into this block today, fresh out of the Soup Faerie’s shelter. The landlady is getting their apartments ready, though she doesn’t much relish the prospect of cleaning up after whoever was there before. They’re all so dumb and squalid and _uncultured_. Half the time she wonders if they even know their own names.

212, 213... here it is. Yawning, the landlady picks through her keyring and unlocks the door of the topmost room. It’s a shabby studio, the smallest apartment she leases. But it’s not too bad, all things considered. It has a nice view.

She steps into the room. The white walls are bare. There are no clothes piled in the corner, no covers on the little bed, no ghostly occupants pacing the floor by the window. Of course. This room has sat vacant for months now. Nothing else has ever been the case.

The landlady draws back the curtains and coughs as dust wafts from the fabric. Light streams into the room. There it is—the view. Neopia Central’s plaza stretches out below, and the bazaar beyond it. On and on it goes in the morning light, a teeming multitude of roofs and streets and crowds. Kiko Lake and the Haunted Woods are out there too, and Brightvale and Kreludor and Terror Mountain and… the whole world. This is Neopia. The toil of a forgotten past has built this paradise. There are no secrets anymore, no hidden horizons waiting to be seen. And yet Neopians go on living and loving, chasing their own little dreams.

“Not a bad sight,” says the landlady to herself. “Just my luck I’m too busy to enjoy it.” She watches the crowds hustle and bustle for a while before she starts to clean. Somewhere in the distance, she thinks she hears music playing. Faint echoes, like waves in a seashell—a different tune, and all the more beautiful.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks as always to my beloved editor, Serena.


End file.
